


Thundercats: Lost Soul

by Lonephantom756



Category: Thundercats (2011), Thundercats - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, But Only for the First Couple Chapters, Catharsis, F/M, Gen, In Medias Res, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It gets better I promise, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon Fix-It, Redemption, Slow To Update, Surprises, Swordfighting, Tragedy, Worth the wait, cold open
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonephantom756/pseuds/Lonephantom756
Summary: What would you do if you found out everything you'd seen was only half the story? What if the truth was a lot more complicated? And is there anything you can do after the fact, when it seems like it's too later for any of it to matter?Lion-O must answer these questions in the wake of a confrontation with the one who betrayed him in Avista. And from there, he needs to ask himself what's next.
Relationships: Lion-O/Pumyra (Thundercats)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. Alone in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Thundercats, the events concerned, and the characters are all copyright of Tobin “Ted” Wolf, Sam Register, Warner Bros. Animation, Studio 4°C, and any other groups/people that deserve the credit. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction.  
> Alert! For those of you who haven’t watched the 2011 version of Thundercats all the way to the end – specifically, the two-parter “What Lies Above” – some major spoilers are referenced in this story. If you’d rather see it for yourself, hit the “back” button on your browser, then go watch the series. Go ahead, I’ll wait.
> 
> Ah, welcome back. 
> 
> Now then, I’m still not going to reference anything directly just yet, in case some of you still haven’t seen the episode…but for those of you that DID (or otherwise heard about it), you may not be entirely thrilled with the revelations made in “What Lies Above.” I certainly wasn’t. And with the 2011 version of the series canceled, I knew that we might not get resolution. Sure, reviews after the fact told us what could have been, but some of the details of the plot after that didn't sit well with me.
> 
> Being a decent writer, I decided to step up, and try my hand at redeeming a certain character while keeping the official canon...and, yes, acknowledging what might have been.
> 
> For those of you who supported the pairing that was all but shot down by “What Lies Above,” I hope you will appreciate the efforts of one who shares your belief in that pairing. For those who couldn’t care less about shipping, but would like to see the story continued, I hope that you will find my efforts on par with the story-writers of the show.
> 
> And for those of you who’d much rather see a certain lion king with someone else, well…I can understand. I shipped Lion-O with Cheetara up and down until the events of “Between Brothers,” which left a bitter taste in my mouth. Add “What Lies Above” into the mix, and I have to say that some show writers need lessons on how to write romance, and NOT screw with what the fans want to see.
> 
> But enough of my rambling. On with the show!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a Lord of the Thundercats broods alone in the forest, and no one's around to see him, what thoughts will form the prologue?

The evening sky above the forest was obscured by storm clouds that had gathered in the west, shrouding the moon and stars in an all-encompassing mantle of shadowy black and saturnine grey. Jagged fingers of lightning danced and forked in the innermost depths of those dark clouds, painting their undersides in staccato flashes of vibrant white. The ensuing rumble of thunder was like the growl of some ancient beast, a primordial tempest that was rousing from its torpor with every passing second. Already, the wind had quickened into a gale, causing the branches of the nearby trees to rustle visibly as they were caught in the grasp of the wind and jostled in a steady tempo. The very air itself had become damp and humid, hanging over all like an oppressive blanket. Rain was inevitable; it was only a matter of time before it came crashing down, drenching anything in its path.

Lion-O paid it no heed.

When the _Feliner_ had landed, the young Lord of the Thundercats had disembarked almost at once, ignoring the concerned gaze of the others as he’d ventured into the woods. Seeking out the tallest tree he could find, Lion-O had dug his claws into the ancient wood and started climbing, easily finding purchase in the mossy bark as he scaled the trunk. For a moment, he’d felt a wave of nostalgia, drawn back to the arena of Thundera and the tangled tree that rose from the vast pool in its center. Back when his biggest concern had only been to prove himself in the eyes of his father, and mastering the Sword of Omens hadn’t seemed like such a big deal, let alone the possibility that his whole world would soon come crashing down. Back when he never imagined himself leading a ragtag band of survivors, and slowly learning how to get along with them.

Let alone that he’d end up having his heart broken.

_Twice._

At which point Lion-O had clenched his teeth and silenced that train of thought, focusing on the task at hand. Onward and upward he had climbed, the claws of his right hand and the metallic digits of his golden gauntlet sinking deep into the moss-strewn wood. All the while, the ache of exertion rose in his muscles, a stabbing soreness made all the more potent by the recent battle. But the physical discomfort had been nothing compared to the emotional turmoil that raged in Lion-O’s mind…that tumultuous mixture of grief and anger, rising and swirling until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. It had driven Lion-O to re-double his efforts, climbing with a fresh burst of speed, as if he could leave his misery behind him if he went high enough.

After an indeterminate stretch of time, he’d reached the upper boughs of the tree and slid himself onto one of the larger branches, just below the vast canopy of leaves. Draping his arm over one knee, the Lord of the Thundercats had leaned back against the trunk, letting the evening air drape him in its humid embrace. And, in that state of repose, he had brooded in silence.

How long ago had that been? An hour? Perhaps several more? Did it matter, really?

Since then, Lion-O hadn’t moved in the slightest, except to shift his legs a little to ease the mild discomfort building in his thighs. Apart from that, he was only vaguely aware of his surroundings – of the dusky breeze that whispered through his scarlet hair and tawny fur; of the scenic view of the forest from his current vantage point; of the subtle hollowness in the pit of his gut that reminded him of just how far he’d climbed. Even the realization of the impending storm – the approaching clouds in the darkening sky, the sea of treetops below rustling in the quickening wind, the ominous rumble of thunder that grew ever louder – did little to phase the young lion.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice. He just didn’t _care_.

The storm matched his feelings perfectly.

Without thinking, Lion-O reached to his gauntlet and grasped the sleek hilt that was set neatly into the golden metal, his fingers tightening around the handle as he gave a sharp tug. With a metallic rasp, the Sword of Omens was freed from its hidden scabbard, glinting in the sporadic flashes of lightning s it emerged in full. Drawing the ancestral weapon level with his body and holding it outward, the Lord of the Thundercats let his eyes wander over the folded-in silver-and-turquoise cross-guard, surmounted by a circular ruby that bore a jet-black slit like a feline pupil. In the gathering darkness, the Eye of Thundera glowed with a faint inner radiance, casting scarlet light along the polished surface of the master-forged blade.

Once, the blade could have extended from its present, dagger-like state. The compact hilt would have become a crossguard of twin crescents; the blade would have extended to its full length, the Eye of Thundera would have glowed hotly as lightning danced along the blade. But now, the Sword of Omens was little more than a dagger, no longer capable of assuming its full form. The lustrous steel had turned dull, the ruby gemstone flickered like a dying candle...and the blade itself bore several cracks, jagged fractures that ran along the blood channel like a series of scars that had yet to heal over.  
  
Grimacing, Lion-O let his gaze travel along his weapon, turning it this way and that to best catch the sporadic flashes from the lightning. Though he'd wiped its blade clean not too long ago, he could still picture the stain that had coated it prior, a dark liquid that had congealed in the hours following the battle. For a time, Lion-O had been of two minds whether to leave the blood there; it had represented what little triumph there was to be had, the sole victory from the recent battle. Pyrrhic though it was.

All thanks to... _her_.  
  
Pumyra.  
  
Lion-O clenched his jaw. The she-cat's passion and fervor had struck him from the moment they’d met at the gladiatorial arena of the Dog clan, capturing his attention in ways that rivaled even his former crush on Cheetara. Even now, Lion-O could clearly see the tomboyish beauty of her face in his mind’s eye, framed by her long bangs as they disappeared into the flaring edges of her chestnut-brown hair, streaked with snowy white. The controlled fire in her deep amber eyes, and how it had occasionally given way to reveal warmth and kindness. The throaty richness of her voice, and how it had softened as she had begun to accept him. Her graceful movements, like a liquid thunderbolt upon the grasslands. And, on those rarest of moments, the allure of her smile. The gentle touch of her fingers upon his shoulders. And, for a brief, fleeting instant, her soft lips caressing his cheek.

In so many ways, Pumyra had been different from Cheetara – she had been abrasive, blunt, and hot-blooded where the Cleric was supportive, friendly, and insightful. And yet, it only made the moments in which she’d showed her softer side all the more rewarding. And then, when she had finally returned his affections outright, Lion-O had felt a surge of gratitude and relief, as though the sun had risen in his chest. From that point on, he’d faced the coming days with a newfound sense of optimism. At long last, it looked like he’d finally found love.

Until the events of Avista had revealed the truth – that Pumyra had been a servant of Mumm-Ra all along. She’d been mortally wounded when Thundera had fallen to the Lizards, buried in the rubble of a collapsed building. Her cries for help had gone unnoticed by Lion-O and his companions as they departed in pursuit of Mumm-Ra, and she'd believed that they’d deliberately left her behind. In her despair, Pumyra had cursed the young king with her final breaths, and died with a heart full of hatred. One more lost soul among the countless slain.

That is, until Mumm-Ra had taken notice.

Even now, after the recent revelations, Lion-O wasn’t sure what dark spells the ancient sorcerer had invoked to resurrect Pumyra, or how exactly the Ancient Spirits of Evil – the dark forces that Mumm-Ra himself answered to – had been involved. Only that the ritual had worked. Pumyra had been returned to the world of the living, brought before Mumm-Ra in all the rage and despair with which she’d died. The ancient demon had then charged her to act as his sleeper agent – to infiltrate the ranks of the Thundercats, earn their trust, and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

And in her hatred, Pumyra had sworn fealty to the monster who had conquered her people.

Finding out about that betrayal had been a knife in Lion-O's heart. Yes, she’d been leading him astray all along, giving Mumm-Ra the chance to recover both the Tech Stone and the Sword of Plun-Darr. And yes, by trusting her, he’d unwittingly allowed his sworn enemy to reclaim his lost power. But more than anything, what hurt the most was the fact that it was the second time he'd had his heart broken.  
  
With Cheetara, at least, Lion-O could take some solace in the fact that she hadn't _meant_ to come onto him, even if it meant that his brother ended up winning over his first crush. But this time, the betrayal of his feelings had been completely deliberate, an act of pure spite.

Once again, Lion-O was alone. And it seemed like that was his lot in life.

As much as Lion-O had tried to focus on the bigger picture, to be the leader that the rest of the Thundercats had needed him to be, his thoughts had kept returning to Pumyra. Her betrayal had haunted his dreams. It was inevitable that they would meet again. That he would have to fight her. And the more he’d thought about it, the more Lion-O had found himself looking _forward_ to that confrontation – more than anything, he wanted to avenge the betrayal of his trust, and force Pumyra to answer for what she'd done to him.

And he'd gotten his wish. It had only been a few hours ago, really. Odd how it felt like it had been ages ago. Or how it seemed like the whole world had come to a halt soon after.

Without warning, Lion-O felt a hot stinging form in the corners of his eyes, and shut them tightly. His throat felt tight and heavy, and his breathing seemed to come in short, rapid gasps. The emotions he’d been trying to ignore surged inside him, a swirling black tide that threatened to overcome the dam of his restraint. Swallowing hard, the young king tried to ignore it, focusing as hard as he could on returning to the state of simple un-thought that he’d adopted during the climb up the tree.

He didn’t want to think about it. Not now.

But there was no escape, no relief from the memories. All Lion-O could do was allow his thoughts to turn inward, drawn back to what had happened. All the while, forgotten wisdom from one of his tutors back at Thundera flickered back to murmur in his ear.

_Be careful what you wish for..._

_**To Be Continued…** _


	2. Revelation and Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lion-O flashes back to his decisive confrontation with Pumyra. Harsh blows led to harsher truths, with the harshest consequences of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thundercats, the events concerned, and the characters are all copyright of Tobin “Ted” Wolf, Sam Register, Warner Bros. Animation, Studio 4°C, and any other groups/people that deserve the credit. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction.
> 
> I would like to take a moment to apologize for the tardy delivery of this chapter. There have been several factors in that regard – not the least of which included real-life obligations like work, and a rather irritating case of writer’s block. But I have overcome it all, and followed through with this chapter. I hope you find it worth the wait, dear readers.
> 
> And now, without further delay, onward!

_**The Observatory of the Ancients;** _

_**Several hours ago:** _

“Pathetic!” Pumyra spat as she loosed a volley of deadly bolts from the bronzed crossbow mounted on her left gauntlet, forcing Lion-O to throw himself to the side as the hail of deceptively-small pellets flew through the space he’d occupied just moments earlier. “Is that the best you can do?!”

Lion-O rolled to his feet and raised his sword, trying to ignore the way his heart convulsed at the raw venom in the she-cat’s voice. “You haven’t seen anything _near_ my best,” he shot back through clenched teeth, refusing to let her see how deeply her words still cut. At how much her betrayal at Avista – the revelation that everything they’d shared since the city of the Dog clan had been nothing but a _lie –_ had hurt him.

A few seconds passed in deadly silence as the two combatants circled one another, looking for an opening in each other’s defenses. The young Lord of the Thundercats held his sword in a two-handed grip with the blade angled outward, prepared to bring its keen edge into play at a moment’s notice, Meanwhile, Pumyra kept her arm out low and to the side, her free paw a blur of motion as she produced a handful of silvery pellets and nocked them upon the string of her gauntlet-mounted crossbow. Separated by a distance of fifty feet, the two Thundercats continued to prowl in that clockwise pattern, their footsteps disturbing centuries’ worth of sand across the ancient stone floor. All the while, their eyes remained locked in a mutual glare, the betrayal and defiance in Lion-O’s cobalt eyes met by the vindictive hatred in Pumyra’s amber pools.

Only one of them was leaving this alive, and they both knew it.

The vast hemispheric chamber that served as their arena had been a work of ancient craftsmanship, a testament to the skill of its long-dead architects. The walls and ceiling had been carved out of flawless sandstone, pale golden-tan that blended into a dusky pinkish-orange hue as it rose upward to form the inverted bowl of the ceiling. Intricate carvings and runes had been etched across the smooth rock, forming a stylistic rendition of planetary bodies and constellations that dominated the walls and ceiling. While there were no windows or torches, luminescent crystals had been set into the sloping walls, casting shafts of dusky bluish-violet light down into the ancient chamber. Motes of dust danced and swirled in those crystal-born rays, lending a surreal quality to the surroundings.

The most striking feature by far, however, was the orrery that dominated a circular dais in the center of the room – a clockwork model of Third Earth’s solar system, built in intricate detail. The planets had been wrought from the same phosphorous crystal that had been set into the walls, causing them to pulse faintly in the elegant bronze casings which housed them. The whole apparatus was encircled by ornate bronze rings that tilted at bizarre angles, giving it the look of an oversized atom with multiple nuclei.

It was the epicenter of the ancient ruins, and the objective of this whole battle.

When Lion-O had first received the vision of the lost temple from the Sword of Omens, it had been Cheetara who had identified the ruins as the Observatory of the All-Seeing Eye. According to legend, it had been one of the great wonders of the ancient world, a combination of advanced technology and mystic sorcery on par with the Book of Omens. Supposedly, the orrery at the heart of the observatory could be used to search the whole of Third Earth for anything the user desired, no matter how remote its location. And so it had been until a massive calamity had befallen the region – according to Cheetara, the writings of the Clerics spoke of a massive sandstorm that had wiped out everything in its path, burying all traces of civilization beneath countless tons of sand. And thus had the Observatory of the All-Seeing Eye been lost, until only its legend remained in the archives of Thundera’s mystics.

While The Thundercats had little need of the Observatory’s vaunted ability to find the last of the four Stones – they had the Book of Omens for that – there had been more to Lion-O’s vision. With the clairvoyance offered by the mystical Sight Beyond Sight, the young king had seen the hulking metallic titans that surrounded the half-buried ruin: the humanoid mecha-tanks of the Lizard army. Hundreds of reptilian conscripts were hard at work with shovels, excavating the ancient building as though their lives depended on it – and, given the infamous ruthlessness of their warchief, that was very likely.  
  
But even the brutal Slithe paled in comparison to his master…the stooped, emaciated figure that had been present in Lion-O’s vision, the hood of his tattered red cloak obscuring his wizened features in a deathly shadow as he stood overlooking it all. Mumm-Ra, the ancient terror who had once made whole worlds tremble...and his presence in the vision had been explanation enough.

There could be no doubt that Mumm-Ra knew about the Observatory's power, and even less doubt about what he wanted it for. With only one of the four mystic Stones – the mystical artifacts that he had wielded in ancient times to grant himself godlike power – left unaccounted for, he surely sought its location. The ancient demon's possession of the Sword of Plun-Darr and the Tech Stone was bad enough; if he claimed the last of the Stones, Lion-O wasn't sure that having the Sword of Omens and the Spirit Stone would be enough to match him.

With no time to waste, the Thundercats and their allies had set course for the vast desert. Upon reaching the Observatory’s dig site, they had quickly concluded that trying to match Mumm-Ra's forces in a ground battle would be suicide – even if they'd repaired the Thundertank, they just didn't have the numbers to deal with the Lizard army or their battle mechs. With land not being a viable option, they'd opted for an aerial attack, bombarding the Lizard forces on the ground with the _Feliner’s_ pulse cannons. The enemy had returned fire, of course; but with Tybra at the controls, the Feliner had been able to elude the ensuing hailstorm of plasma bolts.  
  
In the resulting chaos, Lion-O had acted. Forming a small strike force of himself, Cheetara, and Panthro, he'd slipped past the main ground forces and infiltrated the Observatory of the Ancients while Tygra, the Thunderkittens, and the animal clanfolk who were part of their small army by now – stayed aboard the _Feliner_ to keep their enemies distracted. Miraculously, the three of them encountered little opposition as they went deeper into the ruins, running down ancient corridors that had been mounted with running lights by the Lizard excavation crew. Deeper and deeper they'd gone, with only a token guard to impede them.

Until they had reached the orrery chamber. Where Mumm-Ra had been waiting for them.

And he had not been alone. As the three Thundercats had engaged the ancient sorcer-king, Pumyra had struck from the shadows, launching a fusillade from her gauntlet crossbow. The hail of bolts had forced Lion-O, Cheetara, and Panthro to scatter, throwing themselves in separate directions…and leaving themselves wide open for Mumm-Ra, who had thrown his hooded cloak wide to unleash a swarm of bandages, each strand of ancient gauze twisting and coiling with a life of its own as they unwound from his emaciated body and shot forth like a host of angry serpents.

Only Lion-O had been lucky enough to escape, his sword flashing out to slice through the bandages that had snaked after him. The others hadn’t been so lucky – Panthro had been seized before he could regain his footing, and Cheetara had managed to dodge them up until one managed to seize her by the ankle, whipping her off her feet and slamming her painfully into the ground. And then, as both Thundercats had tried to struggle free, those ancient wrappings had erupted with eldritch lightning, electrocuting them until they both lay senseless.

And with that, Lion-O had found himself on his own. Alone against the powerful Mumm-Ra, and the she-cat warrior he’d once believed to love him.

* * *

It all came to the here and now. Cheetara and Panthro lay at the far edge of the chamber, wrapped tightly from the neck down in bandages that trailed back to Mumm-Ra like spider-threads. Whether they were conscious or not, Lion-O couldn’t tell – he wanted to run to them, make sure they were okay; but he didn’t dare try to break away from Pumyra. Never mind that she’d probably shoot him the moment his back was turned; he couldn’t risk getting Cheetara and Panthro caught in the ensuing crossfire. And as much as it hurt to admit it, the young king knew that Pumyra wouldn’t hesitate to take full advantage of that if he tried to help his friends.

After Avista, he couldn’t put _anything_ past her.

And so the fight had begun. The two of them were now locked in mortal combat, with Lion-O ducking and weaving to avoid the she-cat’s crossbow fire. The floor around him erupted in staccato bursts of sparks and dust as the bolts punched into the ground and against the walls, missing him by scant inches. Already, the young king’s light blue cuirass was pitted and dented where several of the bolts had glanced along his sides, and a trickle of red ran along his tawny cheek from a shallow cut that bled profusely.

But Lion-O fought on, using both gauntlet and sword to block the deadly hail as he tried to make his way forward, advancing on Pumyra step by step. Twice already, he’d managed to close the distance with the traitor, only for her to leap clear before he could bring his sword into play. Her shapely legs had kicked out gracefully as she back-flipped away from his flashing blade, landing in a predatory crouch several feet out of his range. Rising to her feet, she’d loosed another volley, forcing Lion-O to dodge, and the cycle began anew.

It was a battle of attrition, with no clear end in sight.

Circling Pumyra, Lion-O bared his fangs as he considered his options. It was tempting to call on the power of the War Stone, to blast Pumyra into submission with its iconic scarlet ray. Then again, maybe he ought to use the Spirit Stone, encased in his golden gauntlet, to shield himself in a dome of protective energy while he closed the distance. Even if Pumyra _was_ Mumm-Ra’s apprentice, Lion-O didn’t see her having any way of countering either. He could feel the energies coursing through both the Sword and Gauntlet of Omens, the destructive force of the War Stone and the potent mysticism of the Spirit Stone. It was as if they were responding to his wounded heart, begging to be unleashed in all their fury…

But...no. As much as his heart burned at the sight of Pumyra – at the memory of her betrayal – Lion-O knew that this fight was just the beginning. He'd needed to conserve as much of his strength as possible for the confrontation with her master.

Not that Mumm-Ra had gotten that involved since snaring Cheetara and Panthro. Even as Lion-O leaped to one side to dodge Pumyra’s latest salvo, he spared a glance to his left to see the wizened sorcerer standing before the orrery, his back turned to everyone else in the room. Seemingly oblivious to the bitter duel that was unfolding behind him, Mumm-ra had allowed his emaciated arms to emerge from beneath the scarlet shroud of his cloak, palms outstretched towards the globe that represented Third Earth. Bony, ash-gray fingers ran along the circumference of the translucent crystal surface, leaving slender trails of eerie purple light in their wake. All the while, Mumm-Ra was whispering to himself, his withered lips moving almost soundlessly in what Lion-O could only assume was some sort of incantation.

 _He’s looking the last Stone,_ he had time to think. _If I don’t hurry...!_

Then there was a sudden flash of pain as something sharp lanced across his temple. With an instinctive hiss of pain, Lion-O dodged to the right as the next two bolts flew past him. A few inches more, and the first one would have taken his eye –

“Forget it!” Pumyra snarled as she leveled her gauntlet crossbow at him. “A lowly coward like you couldn’t even defeat _me_ , let alone face my master! Or have you forgotten the Pit?!”

The feeling of betrayal and anger twisted in Lion-O’s gut like a snake, running liquid fire through his veins. Ignoring the warmth tricking down the side of his face, the young king bared his fangs at Pumyra. “You only won because I wasn’t _trying_ to fight you,” he shot back, his voice raw with barely-restrained accusation. “If I’d known what you _were_ , then – that you’d given yourself to the monster that destroyed our kingdom…our _people_ …!”

Pumyra’s eyes went wide, as if that reminder of Mumm-Ra's actions had cut deeper than the Sword of Omens ever could. For a moment, a flicker of conflict passed over her features, and Lion-O wondered if maybe – somehow – she'd finally realized how far she'd fallen in the name of her revenge.  
  
Then the doubt was gone, and her expression was as hateful as ever as her eyes narrowed to slits. “Enough!” Pumyra snapped. “Are you actually going to _fight_ , or are empty words the only weapons you have?!”

That tore it. Brandishing the Sword of Omens, Lion-O tapped into its formidable power, marveling at how quickly it came to him. A feeling like a thunderbolt shot up his spine, leaving him both light-headed and alert as supernatural energy coursed through his body. The energy flowed through his arms and into the handle of his sword, causing the Eye of Thundera to glow a fiery red as the power coalesced within its scarlet depths. Then sky-blue lightning ignited along the length of his blade, crackling and dancing along the enchanted steel as though alive. Before him, Pumyra saw the surge of electricity and started to back away, her eyes going wide with alarm. Small wonder – she’d been there when Lion-O had first discovered this power, and she’d seen what it could do.

 _Let's see her dodge_ _ **this**_ _,_ Lion-O thought angrily. With a wordless growl, the young Lord of the Thundercats drew his arm back and whipped the electrified Sword of Omens around in a fierce slashing motion. There was a galvanic cyan flash as a thunderclap split the air, and the lightning left the blade in a crackling bolt that snapped through the air like a bullwhip towards Pumyra.  
  
But it wasn't to be. Maybe it was thanks to her own skill, maybe it was some subtle dark magic that Mumm-Ra may have granted her, or maybe it was just luck. All Lion-O knew was that Pumyra sprang backwards just in time; the lightning bolt hit the ground where she’d been standing and blasted the floor into a shower of stone chips and thick dust. Stumbling back from the small explosion, Pumyra snarled and raised her gauntlet crossbow, her fingers already slipping another bolt into its flight groove.

But Lion-O wasn’t finished. Seeing the rising dust had given him a flash of inspiration, a half-formed idea that was more intuition than coherent plan. Using the force of his first slash as momentum, he whirled the Sword of Omens in a series of sweeping arcs, making the air crackle with ozone as sky-blue lightning leaped from the scything blade in a sizzling volley. The mystic thunderbolts struck the ground around Pumyra in rapid succession, blasting craters into the ancient stone and kicking up geysers of dust that swiftly rose to engulf the renegade Thundercat. Before long, she was reduced to a shadowy blur within the thick cloud; from the way her silhouette lurched and coughed, it was clearly all that Pumyra could do to keep the dust from getting into her eyes and lungs.

_Now!!_

Gripping the Sword of Omens with both hands, Lion-O charged towards the dust-cloud at a full sprint, a roar of challenge erupting from his throat. The sound caught Pumyra’s attention; within the curtain of dust, he saw her shadowy figure straighten up in alarm before dropping into a fighter’s crouch. Instinct took over, and Lion-O veered hard to the right just as a series of metallic _twangs_ filled the air. A glittering volley of crossbow bolts came shooting out of the dust-cloud, tearing through the space where Lion-O had been and hammering against the far wall. As ancient carvings were obliterated in a staccato _**crack**_ of exploding stone, the young king put on a fresh burst of speed that sent him hurtling towards Pumyra once more, running in a wide arc to flank her from the left. More bolts came shooting out of the dust cloud, but now they flew wide, missing by several feet and punching small craters into the walls.

Lion-O afforded himself a grim smile. Pumyra was clearly firing blind – with the dust in her eyes, she couldn’t tell where he was coming from. Tightening his grip on the Sword of Omens, the Lord of the Thundercats ran towards the dust cloud, aiming for Pumyra’s blurry silhouette. With any luck, he’d get close enough to strike before the dust settled enough for her to get a clear shot. He was forty feet away now, and closing fast. Thirty feet, now…twenty…ten…

Just then, Pumyra burst out of the cloud of sand, her tawny fur and dark brown battle-dress smeared with dust and her crossbow gauntlet aimed at nowhere in particular. Her long bangs and ponytail whipped about as she shook the sand out of her eyes, spitting and coughing dust…and then she looked up, and saw him.

For a moment, everything seemed to come to a standstill, a surge of adrenaline blasting through Lion-O’s veins to slow time to a crawl. He saw Pumyra’s amber eyes go wide with shock, then narrow dangerously as her lips parted in a growl. Grains of sand flew as she pivoted on the balls of her bare feet, her bronzed gauntlet flashing in the dim lighting as she took aim with her fold-out crossbow. Lion-O could make out the single metallic pellet between her fingers, its small, rounded mass tapering into a point that gleamed dangerously as she pulled the bowstring taut. Without quite realizing what he was doing, Lion-O felt the tendons in his wrists flex, and there was a blur of tempered steel as the Sword of Omens flashed into motion…

Then time sped up again, and two things happened at once – Pumyra let her arrow fly, and Lion-O’s sword came up in front of his face. There was a resonating _**CLANG**_ as the bolt struck the blade just above the crossguard, ricocheting off the Eye of Thundera itself. The close-range impact caused the Sword of Omens to reverberate violently in Lion-O’s grasp, threatening to tear it from his grasp. As it was, the young king was forced back a few steps as his sword was shoved roughly to the side, leaving him wide open. He managed to regain his footing, but it was already too late – Pumyra was drawing another bolt, just a few infuriating feet out of sword range.

A look of vicious triumph flashed across the renegade Thundercat’s face as she nocked the metal pellet into her gauntlet crossbow, her amber eyes glittering with predatory satisfaction as she aimed the weapon at him and drew back the string in one fluid motion. “It’s over!” she snarled. “Now _die_ , you worthless—!”

She got no further. Anger and betrayal drove Lion-O forward, lunging at Pumyra in open defiance of death. She let her bolt fly, but the young king twisted his body in midair, and the shot missed him by centimeters. Alarm registered in Pumyra’s eyes; she started to reach into her satchel quiver; but Lion-O had already closed the distance. He had no time to bring his sword up, but it didn’t matter – putting all his strength behind his left arm, the Lord of the Thundercats threw a fierce hook that turned his gauntlet-clad fist into a golden blur, hammering Pumyra right in the solar plexus. The punch caused her to double over with a strangled gasp, the pellet she’d been trying to load slipping uselessly through suddenly-nerveless fingers. Her legs buckled dangerously as she slumped forward, her eyes going wide with stunned disbelief.

For a moment, Lion-O felt a surge of bitter vindication – after all the deception, betrayal, and venom, he’d _finally_ managed to wipe that vindictive smirk off Pumyra’s face—!

Without warning, there was a sudden flash as the Spirit Stone flared to life, a rosy glow surging from its faceted depths. Before Lion-O could react, that power was surging across his armored knuckles in rippling waves, suffusing Pumyra in an eerie nimbus of vibrant pink light. She convulsed and screamed as the otherworldly energies engulfed her, writhing as though she’d been electrocuted…and yet, she seemed unable to push herself away from Lion-O’s fist, seized up around the Gauntlet of Omens as if gripping a lightning rod. In a matter of seconds, the scintillating magenta radiance had intensified until it was near-blinding, streaming out through Pumyra’s mouth and eyes in shafts of fiery rose light. All the while, an eerie chant was filling the air; a voiceless, resonating hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Lion-O was taken aback. He’d never seen the Spirit Stone do _anything_ like this, not even remotely _close_. What the _hell_ was going on—?!

Even as the thought went through his mind, something new was happening. As the supernatural energy flowed over Pumyra’s body, an inky blackness began seeping from her tawny fur. It spread across her shapely legs and coiled around her toned arms, then slid up along her neck to frame her wild features in slithering shadow. As Lion-O stared in astonishment, he realized that the sable tendrils were sharpening and refining themselves into distinct forms and shapes. Before long, the darkness had coalesced into a series of strange hieroglyphics, inscribed across Pumyra’s body as if she'd become a living scroll. It was an eerie litany in a tongue that Lion-O had never seen before; yet somehow, the sight of those glyphs sent a chill down his spine…as if some small part of his mind knew that they represented something dark and twisted. Something that had been lurking within Pumyra’s body all this time, unseen by all.

Unseen, perhaps, by even Pumyra herself.

_What…?_

Before Lion-O could finish the thought, the magenta light from the Spirit Stone swept across those sinister glyphs, causing their edges to ripple and blur as though they were melting. Pumyra let out another scream and clutched her head with both hands, her eyes wild and unfocused, as if she were having a nightmare. The glow from the Spirit Stone grew brighter, the pulsing tempo of that otherworldly humming rising until it echoed off the walls of the Observatory. The shining light burst through the dark symbols, fragmenting them with a spider’s web of glowing cracks. Pumyra was writhing and thrashing, her shriek devoid of anything that resembled coherence—

—And suddenly, her hands shot forward and met Lion-O’s chest, shoving him away with a strength born of desperation. The aura of the Spirit Stone flared up and vanished as swiftly as it had emerged, leaving only the sable hieroglyphics that now inscribed her body. Regaining his footing, Lion-O watched as Pumyra stumbled backwards. Though she seemed to have recovered from his punch, her body was still hunched over, and her legs shook as though ready to give out beneath her at any second . Even the symbols that had engulfed her body were worse for wear, every single character pockmarked with shimmering cracks that made them seem to be crumbling before Lion-O’s eyes. To top it all off, he couldn’t even see Pumyra’s face; it was lost in the shadow cast by her hands as she clutched at her forehead and let out a low groan. A migraine? Or something else?

Shaking his head inwardly, Lion-O dropped into a fighter’s crouch and lifted the Sword of Omens. Whatever was happening, it wouldn’t matter if he let down his guard – whatever else was going on, Pumyra was _still_ his enemy…

At that moment, the renegade she-cat straightened up, her hands falling away from her face. But the anger, the hate, the treachery – every trace of the black emotions Lion-O had come to associate with her since Avista – were gone. Instead of raising her wrist-mounted crossbow again, Pumyra was staring at her own palms, as if only seeing them for the first time. She seemed almost dazed, her eyes glassy and unfocused at first as she wobbled uncertainly on her feet. If anything, Pumyra looked confused, bewildered – as if she’d been sleepwalking, then suddenly awoken to find herself miles away from her bed. In fact, she didn’t even seem to realize that he was _there_ , let alone that she’d been _fighting_ him only moments ago.

“Wh-what?” Pumyra asked suddenly, still looking at her hands as if waking up from a bad dream. “Where…how did…what was I…?”

Then she looked up and noticed Lion-O, and understanding dawned in her amber gaze as their eyes met. But the hatred that the young king had expected was still nowhere to be found. Instead, Pumyra looked shocked. No… _horrified_. It was as if the full weight of her actions – the suffering of her fellow Thundercats, her fealty to the monster who had orchestrated the ruin of her homeland, everything she'd _done_ in Mumm-Ra's name – had caught up to her all at once. Shaking her head as if trying to deny a nightmare, she took a step backwards and stared numbly at her hands again, as if expecting to see them soaked with the blood of her kin.

“No,” she whispered softly, her voice trembling with terrified guilt. “No, _no_ , _**no...**_ ”

Without thinking, Lion-O lowered his sword, feeling an unexpected surge of concern. He couldn’t explain where it had come from, or why he was listening to it despite everything that Pumyra had done. If only for a moment, it was as if the events of Avista had never happened.

“Pumyra, what…?” he began.

He never had a chance to finish the sentence. There was a sudden unearthly hiss, and Pumyra doubled over with a cry of pain as she was engulfed in a wave of rippling darkness. The eldritch energy – jet black, outlined by a penumbra of ghostly purple – slithered and flowed across Pumyra’s body, coalescing around the sinister hieroglyphs that embraced her body. As Lion-O stared, the damaged symbols began to restore themselves, the glowing cracks shrinking inward as though they were being consumed by the darkness. As the hieroglyphs began to pulse in a steady rhythm, Pumyra staggered and gasped, clawing at her temples until beads of blood ran down her scalp. Her balance failed her; she collapsed to her knees…and then she threw her head back, and the sweeping ceiling of the observatory echoed with her wordless scream.

But it was different this time. Earlier, when the energy of the Spirit Stone had surged through her, Pumyra’s scream had been instinctive, more out of shock than anything else. This time, there was _emotion_ in her voice – a raw, tortured desperation that sent a chill down Lion-O’s spine. It was as if something alien and malevolent had sunk its claws into Pumyra’s mind – her very _soul_ – and she was trying in vain to fight it off.

For a moment, Lion-O could only stare at the renegade Thundercat as she thrashed and cried out, completely at a loss. Then he blinked, and something clicked in his mind. Those symbols…something familiar about them…

_Dark magic._

An impulse drove the young king to turn, whirling to face the orrery…where Mumm-Ra, engrossed with his ritual up until now, had finally taken an interest. The undead sorcerer had half-turned away from the ancient device, his hunched, withered figure in profile as he appraised Lion-O and Pumyra wordlessly. Though his mummified features remained stony and impassive, his inhuman scarlet eyes blazed with light beneath the shadow of his hood, and his wrinkled brow was furrowed in concentration. His bony arm was thrust forth from the tattered folds of his red cloak, the long fingers spread wide to display a heavily-bandaged palm. That outstretched hand was wreathed in an aura of ghostly purple energy, with shadowy symbols flickering in the air around it.

The same symbols that were now inscribed across Pumyra’s body.

Lion-O brought his sword up in a heartbeat, pointing the star-forged blade towards his enemy. “Mumm-Ra!” he shouted. “What are you doing to her?!”

The ancient sorcerer’s eyes fell upon him, and he raised a condescending brow. Silence for a moment…and then a subtle, mirthless smile touched those withered lips. “Come now,” Mumm-Ra chided. “What do you think drove Pumyra to bend her knee to me in the first place?”

Lion-O blinked at the unexpected question, the bitter certainty of his past with Pumyra suddenly shot through with doubt. “But...she hated me,” he said slowly, uncertainly. “She said so herself. She thought I'd abandoned her to her death, and died hating me for it. That's why you revived her, so she could be your spy...”

Mumm-Ra let out a soft, malevolent chuckle. “Oh, Pumyra hated you, certainly,” he observed. “But that aside, she was a loyal soldier of Thundera. _Think_ , boy…would a patriot like her _willingly_ serve me, when it was _I_ who brought ruin to her homeland? _I_ , who murdered her old king? _I_ , who enslaved the very people she had vowed to protect?”

Lion-O hesitated. Until a few minutes ago, he would have said yes. As far as he’d known, Pumyra was nothing but a vengeful she-cat who had been driven by hate, deceiving him from the very beginning and forsaking everything she’d once held dear for the sake of revenge. His bitter foe, perhaps even more personally than Mumm-Ra himself.  
  
But suddenly, all that had been thrown into doubt. “What are you saying?”

Mumm-Ra sighed, as if disappointed by Lion-O’s ignorance. “I told you back at Avista, did I not?” he explained scornfully. “Pumyra has been _mine_ since the fall of Thundera. Her will, her drive, her desires…I took them all and molded them as I saw fit.”

Lion-O stared in shock. “You… _what_ …?”

The ancient sorcerer drew his bony hands together, surveying him over the pyramid of his steepled fingers. “You said it yourself, cub – Pumyra died with a heart full of anguish and hatred. My sorcery turned those dark emotions into a maelstrom that overwhelmed her departing spirit.” Mumm-Ra paused, his scarlet eyes gleaming wickedly as he gestured to Pumyra’s writhing figure. “From there, she was _quite_ malleable. She was blinded to the whispers I planted in her mind, the subtle changes that would twist her sense of purpose. And so she swore herself to me, never realizing that her thoughts and deeds were no longer _quite_ her own.”

Lion-O felt a sickening jolt of realization. “Then everything up till now – Pumyra’s devotion to you, her betrayal of Thundera, all of it – it was _you_ the whole time?!”

Mumm-Ra’s withered lips twisted in a cruel smile. “Indeed,” he hissed, “And she never even _knew_ it. Such a perfect soldier, my dear Pumyra…following orders without question, even when they went against everything she had died fighting for. Why, she even thought it was all _her_ idea!” He paused. “But then, it is simple to control the foolish…and even in death, Pumyra was such a fool.”

Lion-O was too shaken, too angry, to answer. Before he could find his voice, a tortured cry made him glance over his shoulder, where Pumyra had curled up into a ball. Her sharp nails dug at her temples as she clutched her head, all but sobbing for breath as she writhed on the floor. Beneath the jet-black hieroglyphics of Mumm-Ra’s sorcery, abject misery was etched on Pumyra's features, and her amber eyes were wide and unseeing – as if her suffering was so profound that she was no longer fully conscious, trapped within the dark spells that Mumm-Ra had used to shackle her mind.

But even so, Lion-O knew Pumyra was suffering. Begging someone, anyone, to save her.

“All this time, I thought that Pumyra was evil,” he said quietly. “A vindictive and self-serving traitor, no better than Grune.” He stabbed a finger at Mumm-Ra, his voice rising in accusation. “But I was wrong. All this time, she was just another victim. _Your_ victim _._ The real monster was you. It's _always_ been you!”

Mumm-Ra scoffed dismissively. “Spare me your righteous indignation, whelp,” he sneered. “Pumyra was _far_ from a saint – I did not create her hatred for you; I merely amplified it. ”

Lion-O gritted his teeth and raised his sword. “I don’t care. All I know is that I’m putting a stop to it. Let her go, or I _swear_ I'll...!”

Mumm-Ra’s expression darkened. “In a way, you already _have_ 'put a stop to it,'” he hissed. “The power of the Spirit Stone has shattered my subtle influence over Pumyra. Now I must control her directly.” He drew in a rattling breath and released it in an almost melancholic sigh. “A pity…I put such effort into making her obedient, yet independent. But no matter.” Then his gaze shifted to something behind Lion-O as he raised a bony arm and pointed. “Hold him.”

That's when it dawned on Lion-O that Pumyra had fallen eerily silent. His instincts screamed a warning, he started to turn on his heel; but it was already too late.

A pair of wiry arms flew around his body; slender fingers seized his sword arm and wrenched it downward while a toned forearm locked around his throat. With a strangled gasp, Lion-O struggled to break free, but it was no use – the claw-tipped digits coiled around his wrist were like steel cables, the arm around his throat an iron vice. The young king dug his heels into the sandy floor to try and push free, but a shapely leg wrapped around one of his thighs, pinning his foot down with its own and trapping him in the death-grip. As the pressure on his windpipe increased, Lion-O grabbed at his attacker’s forearm with his free hand, the golden fingers of his armored gauntlet tightening convulsively as he tried to force it away. Gaining a few precious inches of freedom, he managed a glance over his shoulder –

– And stared, his mind numb with shock. It was Pumyra that gazed back at him, but there was no sign of the Thundercat that he’d once known in her empty stare. Her features had become as blank and expressionless as a death mask – even as Lion-O clawed at her arm and struggled against her deadly embrace, Pumyra’s face remained eerily devoid of emotion, let alone any sort of discomfort or pain at his attempts to break her choke-hold. But as unnerving as that was, her eyes were even _worse_ – an unearthly scarlet radiance had engulfed her wild amber pools, completely obliterating her feline pupils and irises.

Lion-O felt a chill race down his spine. There was nothing left of Pumyra in those glowing red eyes – neither her bitter hatred, nor the anguish and torment she’d suffered only minutes ago. Whatever tensions and regrets had existed between them, it meant nothing to the creature that now stared out of her eyes. It was if every trace of her had been buried, leaving only a mindless extension of Mumm-Ra’s will.

“Even a simple puppet has its uses,” a raspy voice hissed. “But I'll have time enough to rebuild her false persona once you're dead.”

With a surge of alarm, Lion-O's attention was drawn back to Mumm-Ra. The mummified sorcerer was descending the short stairway that led from the orrery dais, moving with the halting cadence of a walking corpse. As he reached the bottom step, he threw open his hooded cloak with a sweep of his arm, revealing the ancient wrappings that embraced his emaciated body from throat to toe. The action also exposed an ornate gauntlet that hung at his side – a thing of jet-black metal that seemed to be twice the size of his withered forearm, its ridged surface inlaid with an intricate pattern of pulsing scarlet lines. In many ways, this gauntlet’s design was a demonic counterpart to Lion-O’s own Gauntlet of Omens – though _it_ , in truth, was the original.

As was the short sword that Mumm-Ra drew from a hidden socket on the gauntlet’s ebon surface – the Sword of Plun-Darr, forged from an alloy born from a galactic supernova. Its bat-winged crossguard and keen blade were forged from the same dark metal as the gauntlet, and a dusky purple stone glittered at the pommel. Just gazing at the weapon made Lion-O's blood run cold, as if he could feel all the deaths that had gone into its creation.  
  
Gripping the sword tightly, Mumm-Ra swung it out to the side, and a ghostly aura enveloped the blade as it shot outward and tripled in length. The crossguard seemed to snap open, and the hilt extended to accommodate two hands. When the glow faded, the Sword of Plun-Darr had become a proper longsword, its dark edges gleaming dangerously in the crystal-born light. Wielding the transformed weapon one-handed, Mumm-Ra began to approach. Though his face was partially hidden in the shadow cast by his hood, Lion-O could see that withered lips had drawn back from pointed teeth in a cruel smile, and that his scarlet eyes were burning with the promise of death.

Eyes going wide, the young king clawed at Pumyra’s forearm with a renewed fervor. But it was useless – either Mumm-Ra’s dark magic had lent the fallen Thundercat unnatural strength, or her brainwashing had left her immune to pain. Either way, there was no breaking her death-grip; with her legs entwined with his, Lion-O couldn’t even try to kick at her. An iron band constricted his throat as Pumyra’s muscles tightened, squeezing down on his windpipe. The young king gagged and writhed, but to no avail. Hazy tendrils began to cloud the edges of his vision, turning the approaching Mumm-Ra into a crimson blur. Lion-O couldn’t breathe, couldn’t break free – all that was left was the strange emptiness blossoming in his skull as his consciousness began to fail, leaving only the grim certainty that he was about to die…

Without warning, an ethereal warmth flowed through the armored fingers of his left hand, and a surge of magenta light engulfed his failing vision. Though he couldn’t see it properly, Lion-O felt a burst of adrenaline race through his veins as understanding dawned on him.

 _The Spirit Stone,_ he realized faintly. And with that understanding, there was inspiration.

With a final effort, the Lord of the Thundercats threw his sword aside. Even as it clattered across the sandy floor, Lion-O was grabbing Pumyra’s arm with both hands, closing his eyes tightly as he focused his will on the Stone’s supernatural power. For a few agonizing seconds, there was nothing…and then that familiar warmth flowed through him again. The energy of the Spirit Stone rippled through the Gauntlet of Omens like an electric current, leaping from his armor-clad fingers to engulf Pumyra once again. There was no scream this time, but he could feel the fallen Thundercat shiver violently, as though the spells that imprisoned her mind were being disrupted by the surge of sacred energy.

There was a rattling hiss from in front of him and the sound of shuffling footsteps quickened. Even without seeing, Lion-O knew what was happening – Mumm-Ra had realized what he was trying to do. Pushing it out of his mind, the young king tried to focus everything he had on the Spirit Stone, to pour all his will into spreading its purifying energy through Pumyra’s body. It was his only chance.

But the crushing pressure on his throat was too great; his grip on consciousness was all but lost. He heard Mumm-Ra saying something as though from a great distance away, managed to open his eyes and saw the blurry figure of the ancient sorcerer lunging towards him, his sword raised for the killing blow.  
  
 _No good; too late...!_

Suddenly, Pumyra’s arm loosened from around his throat. Before Lion-O had realized what was happening, a rough shove sent him stumbling to the side. As momentum and gravity seized hold of his body, Lion-O found himself falling backward. In the few seconds before he hit the ground, he saw the Sword of Plun-Darr cleaving through the empty space where he’d been standing only seconds ago. Mumm-Ra’s expression was one of furious shock, his scarlet eyes wide with disbelief as he followed Lion-O’s descent.  
  
And standing before the sorcerer, her arms still flung out from pushing Lion-O out of the way, was Pumyra. The pitch-black hieroglyphics that had encircled her body were engulfed in magenta flame, disintegrating to leave her tawny fur pristine and untouched. The scarlet glow had likewise faded from Pumyra's eyes; emotion had returned to those rich amber pools. But for all the turmoil, there was no longer any hatred as her gaze met his in that brief moment of free-fall.

Then Lion-O hit the ground hard enough to raise a cloud of sand around his body, letting out an involuntary yelp as the impact jolted up his tailbone and shoulder blades. But the dust had barely begun to settle before he was pushing himself upright, his hands scrabbling across the ancient stone as he struggled to regain his footing. There was no pain, he didn’t have _time_ for pain! Looking up, he saw Mumm-Ra turning upon Pumyra, his wizened features dark with wrath.  
  
Pumyra was backpedaling, trying to raise her crossbow gauntlet. But too late. With a wordless snarl, Mumm-Ra brought the Sword of Plun-Darr around in a fierce slash, the black blade flashing through the air in a deadly arc—

—And there was a spray of bright, arterial scarlet.

“ _ **Pumyra!!!”**_

Lion-O was on his feet before he knew it; he barely noticed reaching down to scoop up the Sword of Omens as he ran towards the two of them. Mumm-Ra stepped back and lifted the Sword of Plun-Darr in challenge, but Lion-O wasn’t paying attention to him. Whether the ancient sorcerer was retreating or waiting for him to attack, he didn’t care – the only thing that mattered was that Pumyra was stumbling backward, her crossbow arm falling uselessly to her side, her eyes wide and disbelieving as she reached up with a shaking hand to clutch at her throat.  
  
At the blood that was spurting between her slender fingers, flowing down her neck and collarbone to stain the earth-hued leather of her battle-dress a deep crimson. Mouth working silently, Pumyra took an unsteady step backwards. Then another.

Then her legs buckled, no longer able to support her as the strength left them. But Lion-O was there just in time; his left arm looped quickly around the small of Pumyra's back as he caught her. Brandishing the Sword of Omens in Mumm-Ra’s direction, Lion-O lowered Pumyra to the sandy floor as gently as he could, kneeling by her side with a numb sort of horror. His left hand flew over her throat and pressed down, trying to staunch the flow of blood through sheer force of will as he looked for something to bind the wound, something, anything...!  
  
But deep down, Lion-O knew better. One look was enough to tell him that the Sword of Plun-Darr had done its cruel work. The wound was too deep, and Pumyra was bleeding out too quickly. Already, her breathing was becoming shallow and weak, and he could see a deathly mist creeping into the fallen Thundercat’s eyes.

“Come on Pumyra, eyes on me,” he begged, his voice hollow and desperate. “Hang in there, please...”

The sound of Lion-O’s voice seemed to rouse Pumyra. Her eyes re-focused and found his own, and her shaking hands rose to clasp his wrist weakly. Her lips moved silently, but there were no words; the strength to talk was already gone. But as their eyes met, the emotions in her amber pools – the echo of bitterness, and the longing regret – spoke for her. For Lion-O, time hung in limbo for a single moment, the enormity of Pumyra's silent message surging through his chest in a crashing, icy torrent of anguish…

And then something in those honeyed pools glazed over and faded, leaving them as blank and lifeless as marbles. Pumyra's fingers slipped away from his, her arms falling limply to her sides as her head rolled back. A final whisper of breath left those soft lips, lips that had once caressed his cheek.

Then it was over, and Lion-O was left cradling a sad, lifeless body in his arms.

* * *

_**The Viridian Forest;** _

_**The Present:** _

Up in the branches of that mighty tree, Lion-O hugged his upraised knee tightly, the hot stinging in his eyes worse than ever. He looked out across the vast forest beneath him without really seeing it, dimly aware that an ominous darkness had overtaken the sky. He felt the wind blowing through his tawny fur and scarlet hair; inhaled the dank heaviness of the humid air. The storm was almost upon him. And he couldn't bring himself to care.

He thought he’d understood Pumyra. He’d thought that she’d been nothing but a traitor, a heartless and manipulative fiend who had been playing with his emotions from the very beginning, all to make her betrayal as painful as she could. He’d even managed to convince himself that she was beyond redemption, that death was the _only_ mercy she deserved. That belief had hardened his resolve, he’d been ready to kill her himself the next time they met.

But Lion-O’s perceptions had been overturned once again, hurling his whole world upon itself. All this time, Pumyra had been an unwitting puppet, her bitterness twisted to evil purposes by Mumm-Ra. The horrified look in her eyes when the spell had been broken left no room for doubt – whatever her personal grudge against Lion-O, Pumyra would never have betrayed Thundera of her own free will. She had been Mumm-Ra’s _slave_ , not his servant. Even if his control had been so subtle that she hadn’t realized it.

And when her will had become her own once more, when it had come down to her life or his, Pumyra had saved Lion-O without a moment’s hesitation.

The young king drew in a sharp breath as a heavy weight settled in his throat, shutting his eyes tightly as he tried to block out the anguish of that realization. But in the darkness behind his closed lids, he could still see Pumyra as she lay dying in his arms, her lips moving soundlessly as she clutched at his hand with trembling fingers. The heartfelt emotion in her amber eyes, which conveyed the words that her voice could not offer:

_I'm sorry._

Lion-O shivered in the wind, his heart twisting in his chest. “Pumyra,” he whispered, his throat going tight.

Then, at long last, the sky broke. Droplets of wetness began to fall, slowly at first, but swiftly becoming a downpour that hurtling through empty and and plunged to the forest floor below.  
  
Not all of it from the rain.

_**To Be Continued…** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you are. After “What Lies Above,” I spent some time thinking of how to redeem Pumyra in a way that wouldn't conflict with the canon of the official series. After all, the hallmark of a good writer is figuring out how to take some events from lousy canon and turn them into something worthwhile. It's the same reason that drives me to think of a continuation of Sly Cooper: Thieves in Time rather than declare that whole mess non-canon. But that's a story for another day.
> 
> The key factor was in how Pumyra had been brought back from the dead – more accurately, who had revived her. Given that the Ancient Spirits of Evil are a force of corrupting darkness (right there in the NAME, and all that), it didn't seem too far-fetched to assume that Mumm-Ra might have used their power to subtly twist and warp Pumyra's mind and soul when he raised her from the dead, letting her think she was in full control of herself even when she wasn't. It wouldn't be the first time such tricks were pulled in fiction – look at what Quan Chi did to Scorpion and the original Sub-Zero, for example, in Mortal Kombat.
> 
> And yeah, sorry about the cold open that dropped you, dear readers, right into the thick of the action with a background summary of how they got to this point. Maybe later on, I might go back and work on a chapter or two to properly describe the events that led to Lion-O and Pumyra dueling in an underground observatory. But maybe this way was a little better, because Lion-O would have been reflecting on this key moment rather than all the events that led up to it?
> 
> I look forward to any comments or suggestions you might have in that regard. Thanks in advance!


	3. Broken Heart, Broken Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion between brothers. A flashback to the battle that followed Pumyra's death. How much is the cost of vengeance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thundercats, the events concerned, and the characters are all copyright of Tobin “Ted” Wolf, Sam Register, Warner Bros. Animation, Studio 4°C, and any other groups/people that deserve the credit. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction.
> 
> I'd like to apologize for not being as quick to update my work as some folks out there. I've been working on this on and off all the while, dealing with real life demands and the disappointments it sometimes handed out to me. I think we can all agree that the last four years have been hard on us.
> 
> But let's not get too political. You came here to read Thundercats fanfiction, and I want to provide some fresh life to the 2011 version. Let's begin, shall we?

_**The Viridian Forest, The Present:** _

Lion-O had no idea how long he'd been up here in the treetops, riding out the endless storm and its endless downpour. He was dimly aware that he was soaked and shivering, but he didn’t care – the cold, damp chill from his sodden garments and wet fur seemed far away, like an island at the farthest edge of the ocean's horizon. If anything, it was the perfect reflection of his feelings – that crushing sense of silent loneliness. All the despair that Lion-O had managed to hold back among the other Thundercats, the realization of just how much he’d lost…it engulfed him now like a black tide.

Perhaps, deep down, he’d known it would come to this when he left the group. A king wasn’t supposed to shed tears. But it was all he could do for Pumyra now.

After a few minutes, Lion-O took a deep breath and managed to master his grief. In its place, there was only a broken numbness. As he absently watched the rain plummet into the shadowy depths of the forest below, he wished that he could become part of the torrential deluge. That the whole of his existence could be scattered among those countless droplets that plummeted to the forest floor, soaking into the lush grass and moist soil until it was part of the earth.

Maybe then, it wouldn't hurt so much.

At that moment, a sudden movement caught Lion-O’s eye – a splash of vibrant orange against the muted colors of the night. Surprised out of his funk, the young king blinked hard and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, dashing away the lingering wetness so he could get a better look. Several feet below, a solitary figure was scaling the tree, claw-tipped fingers seizing purchase in the mossy bark as it climbed towards him. Sporadic flashes of lightning illuminated its approach, revealing details in garish strobes.  
  
It was a Thundercat like him, clad in a futuristic uniform – dark green chestpiece, leggings, and gauntlets; all worn over a simple black bodysuit. Fiery orange fur that gave way to snowy white around the face and hands, slashed through with jet-black stripes. Pale golden eyes that glowed as they caught and reflected what little light there was. An ornate whip that ended in three red spheres was coiled at his hip on one side, with a sleek high-tech pistol holstered at the other.

Lion-O knew who it was right away. He’d known him all his life. Before the fall of Thundera, he had considered him his most infuriating rival – and had, in turn, been considered by _him_ as the irresponsible heir to the throne. They had competed many times, in many ways…and invariably, it had been this tiger who’d proven the victor every time. The fight for Third Earth’s freedom had eased the friction between them…but seventeen years of sibling rivalry were not easily forgotten.

Tygra. His fellow Thundercat. Second prince of the fallen Thundera. And his adopted older brother.

Lion-O grimaced and leaned back against the tree’s massive trunk, turning his attention back out into the stormy sky. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Tygra hauled himself up onto the same branch, settling onto the heavy bough with his arm draped over his knee. Lion-O could feel his brother’s eyes fall upon him, the focused stare seeming to burn into his skull. But he couldn’t bring himself to return the tiger’s gaze _–_ he didn’t want to face the judgment that undoubtedly lurked there, nor the harsh criticism that would surely follow.

But there was no putting it off forever. Lion-O had learned long ago that Tygra would not be ignored. After all, he’d always been quick to reprimand Lion-O for many of his brasher decisions in the past – justified or otherwise – and after the events in the Observatory, the young king suspected that he knew _exactly_ what his older brother planned to chew him out for this time. Unconsciously, Lion-O’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the Sword of Omens, his eyes falling upon the broken remnants of its star-forged blade.

 _What else could it be?_ Lion-O thought bitterly. _And this time...he’s_ _ **right.**_

For several long moments, an uncomfortable silence hung between the two brothers, broken only by the wind and rain. Lion-O felt Tygra’s stare weighing on him, but kept his own gaze focused on the stormy night sky. The silence dragged on a little longer.

Then, finally, Tygra broke it. “The others have been asking about you, you know.” His voice was quiet, practically casual. If not for his subtle undertone, he might have been talking about the weather.

Lion-O grimaced. “I’ll bet.” He knew he was being brusque, but he wasn’t in the mood to trade words – not if it would lead to barbs, as it surely would.

If Tygra was insulted, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply turned his attention to the Sword of Omens, those feline eyes appraising the shattered blade with an unyielding scrutiny. Though Tygra remained quiet, Lion-O could swear he _felt_ his brother’s disapproval radiating off him as though it were a tangible thing. When the tiger’s gaze flicked in his direction, his somber frown only seemed to confirm it. Lion-O’s gut twisted at the sight – he was used to his brother’s criticism, but he wasn’t in the mood for it now. Not after the enormity of his recent loss.

But he’d _have_ to face it sooner or later – if not from Tygra, then from the rest of the Thundercats. Undoubtedly, they shared his brother’s opinion by now.

Lion-O sighed in resignation. “You don’t have to say anything, Tygra,” he said in a tight voice. “I _know_ I screwed up.”

Tygra blinked once at the sudden remark, then set his jaw. “Look, Lion-O, if I’d been there—”

“—You would have done things _differently_ ,” Lion-O cut him off through clenched teeth, keeping his gaze fixed on the forest below. “You wouldn’t have let Pumyra’s death hit you so hard. You wouldn’t have let Mumm-Ra bait you into such an obvious trap. And you _definitely_ wouldn’t have sacrificed the Sword of Omens on a _fool’_ s gambit! That’s what you’re getting at, right!?”

“Lion-O—”

“Well, that’s _exactly_ what happened!" Lion-O burst out. “I was angry, I was heartbroken, and it cost us the only weapon that could kill Mumm-Ra!” He let out a short, bitter laugh “All because I thought I’d win through sheer _power!_ What was I _thinking?!_ ”

“Lion-O—”

“So go ahead,” Lion-O interrupted; his voice thick with self-loathing. “Call me a fool! Tell me that I’ve doomed us all with my bleeding heart!” He swallowed hard against the surge of black depair and anger in his gut. “Because I _did!_ I’m the irresponsible, impulsive, unworthy brat that you’ve always said I was! I _get_ it! Are you _happy_ now—?!”

“— _ **Lion-O!**_ ”

Without warning, Tygra reached out and seized Lion-O by the shoulder. Momentarily startled out of his rant, the young king lifted his head and twisted around on the branch, glaring and ready to meet his brother’s ire…

Except that it was nowhere to be found. Despite his frown, Tygra’s eyes carried none of the judgment or criticism that Lion-O had been expecting. Instead, there was some deeper emotion in those golden orbs, something that gave Lion-O pause. For a moment, he almost didn't recognize it – the sentiment seemed almost alien, coming from his brother...

“If I’d been there,” Tygra said quietly, “And it had been _Cheetara_ lying dead on the floor…” He paused, giving Lion-O’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “…I would’ve done the same thing.”

…But there was no mistaking the emotion for what it was: _compassion._

All of a sudden, Lion-O felt a mixture of gratitude and shame, both thankful for his brother’s understanding and shamefully aware of his own volatility. For a moment, the crushing emotions welled up in his throat, and he couldn’t respond; he opened his mouth to apologize, but no sound came out. After a moment, he looked away again, his eyes downcast as he let his gaze return to the forest below.

And oddly enough, Tygra seemed to understand. He didn't break the silence with any words, merely nodding as he patted Lion-O’s shoulder again. The gentle weight of his palm was warm in the rain, a reminder of the bond that they shared beneath all the bickering.

 _Adopted or not,_ Lion-O reflected, _we’re brothers when it counts._

After a few minutes, Tygra gave him a knowing look. “You still loved Pumyra, didn’t you?” he asked.

Lion-O's throat constricted, the weight in his chest growing heavier. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the stormy night sky, not saying anything. He knew Tygra wouldn’t let the matter lie, but it wasn’t a question he wanted to answer right away. Whiskers, he wasn’t even sure that he _knew_ the answer. For a moment he just sat there, quietly mulling the question over in his head, letting it roll back and forth on the waves of his thoughts in an attempt to discern the truth of his own troubled heart.

“I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “When I think about Pumyra, I still remember her betrayal at Avista, and how much it broke my heart." He paused. "But at the same time...she was under Mumm-Ra's influence this whole time. All of her worst actions...they were out of her control. She was a slave the whole time, and she didn't even know it.”

Lion-O could hear the pleading tone in his own voice – the need to justify his belief, to know that it wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part. From the way Tygra nodded quietly, it was clear that he understood as much. But whether he _agreed_ or not, Lion-O couldn’t tell. Despite his feline vision, the gloom of night made his expression hard to determine.

“I mean, I _know_ it was all still a lie,” the young king admitted. “Everything from the Pit to Avista. And that _still_ hurts.” He paused. “But the moment Mumm-Ra's control broke, Pumyra was herself again...and I _saw_ it, Tygra. I _saw_ the horror in her eyes when she realized what she'd done. What Mumm-Ra manipulated her into becoming. And when it came down to my life or hers...”

He paused again and swallowed hard, remembering what Pumyra had done. The way she’d shoved him away from Mumm-Ra's sword, even though it had meant he'd turn on her. The unspoken message in her haunted gaze as Lion-O had cradled her in her last moments.

“When she was dying,” he said slowly, “she looked up at me. Our eyes met, and…and I _felt_ something between us. I _know_ I did.”

Tygra eyed him thoughtfully, but still said nothing.

“But _was_ it love?” Lion-O wondered aloud. “Or just regret and guilt? Was there anything between us? _Could_ there have been?" He paused, shaking his head. "I don't know. I'll _never_ know. And that's the hardest part.”

Tygra continued to remain silent.

Lowering his gaze, Lion-O let out a quiet sigh. “I guess maybe I _was_ still in love with her, stupid as that sounds,” he admitted. “But whatever else she was, whatever she thought of me…” He paused, shaking his head. “…Pumyra didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

Tygra frowned for a moment, considering his brother's words. Then, finally, he nodded. “No,” he agreed. “I guess she didn’t.”

Then silence reigned once more. The wind whistled through the leafy branches of the tree that served as the perch for the two Thundercats, with raindrops dewing their fur and casting glistening trails along their clothing and armor. Lightning danced through the murky night, jagged violet-white lines that slashed the inky darkness into fragments of cloudy sky. The thunder that followed was a rumbling, crashing thing, the lament of a primordial god. The tempest waxed and waned without any real pattern, sometimes tranquil, only to pick up into a squall, then to die down again without warning. All of which the brothers endured together, without remark or complaint.

Then Tygra broke the silence. “From what Cheetara and Panthro told me, you nailed Mumm-Ra pretty hard,” he remarked with a faint smirk, giving a nod to the Sword of Omens. “Who knows? He might've died from his wounds.”

Lion-O lifted his sword, his gaze traveling along the length of the cracked, shrunken blade. “Maybe,” he sighed, his voice heavy with resignation as he considered his brother's words. “But I don’t think someone called the Ever-Living would die that easily.”

Though the Sword of Omens was danaged, the lion prince could swear that some echo of its mystical clairvoyance – that Sight Beyond Sight – remained within the broken weapon. Even now, Lion-O could almost _see_ what had happened back in the Observatory, as though it were still happening…

* * *

_**The Observatory of the Ancients, several hours ago:** _

“She was a fool.”

Lion-O blinked as that harsh, rasping voice cut through the bleak fog that had engulfed his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been kneeling there, numbly stoking Pumyra's cheek and staring at her lifeless features as the truth behind her betrayal – and her final act of redemption – sank in. Just a few minutes? That couldn't be right; it had felt like an eternity – like melting wax stretching out under a flame, like droplets of water sliding down an icicle. How could there be anything else in the world that mattered now?

But now Lion-O's senses were returning with brutal clarity, and time was speeding back up with a ruthlessness that left him keenly aware of his surroundings once more – the cavernous dome of the ancient observatory; the writhing figures of Cheetara and Panthro near the edge of the chamber as they began to regain their senses, still wrapped in the thick cocoons of Mumm-Ra’s extended bandages...

And Mumm-Ra himself. A withered figure in a tattered robe, his jet-black sword dyed crimson with blood.

 _Pumyra's_ blood.

His numb grief withering away in a hot surge of anger, the young Lord of the Thundercats lifted his head to glare at the red-cloaked figure. Mumm-Ra’s ancient features were impassive as he looked upon Lion-O and the she-cat he cradled in his arms...that is, except for the flicker of disdain in those blood-red eyes as they considered Pumyra's lifeless body. It was the sort of look one might reserve for a squashed insect.

Lion-O glared at the ancient demon. “What. Do. You. _Mean?_ ” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

“What else?” Mumm-Ra replied coldly. “It was foolish of Pumyra resist me. Had she simply surrendered to my control – to the darkness born from her own heart – she would still be alive.”

“At the cost of her free will?” Lion-O demanded. ”A thrall under your control? You call _that_ alive?!”

Mumm-Ra cocked his head to one side, his arched brow creasing the thick pattern of wrinkles of his ancient forehead. “Implying that Pumyra had any free will worth _noting?_ ” he scoffed dismissively. “She was _nothing_ when I found her – a lost soul, trapped in a limbo of her own making. She could barely remember her own _name,_ let alone her loyalties.” He lifted a hand, bony fingers clutching expressively at the air. “ _I_ rescued her from that wretched existence. _I_ gave her direction and purpose.”

“You _brainwashed_ her!”

“I silenced any thoughts that would limit her effectiveness as a warrior,” Mumm-Ra corrected, arrogantly folding his emaciated arms across his bandaged chest. “And by instilling an intimate devotion to _me_ – by making her think that it was all _her_ idea – I bestowed Pumyra with a resolve that most can only _dream_ of. She became my finest soldier, my devout and loving acolyte.” He paused, shaking his head loftily. “Really…she ought to have thanked me.”

Lion-O couldn’t believe his ears. “ _Thanked_ you?!” he demanded angrily. ”For warping her mind and soul?! For turning her into your _puppet?!_ ”

Mumm-Ra’s wheezing laugh was filled with scorn. “She would _never_ have been what you wanted, boy,” he retorted. “Even _without_ my manipulations, Pumyra would have tried to kill you; such was her belief that you had abandoned her. Oh, you might have placated her, perhaps – quelled that unreasoning hatred – but she would _never_ have loved you.”

Lion-O felt his gut twist. “That isn’t the _point—!_ ”  
  
“Isn’t it?” Mumm-Ra interrupted with a wicked smile. “An embittered survivor like her had no time for such naïve, idealistic foolishness as courting and companionship – only duty, and vengeance.” The ancient sorcerer’s voice became cruel, taunting. “At best, she would have been a faithful soldier. _Never_ a lover, much less a _friend_ …”

“ _That doesn’t_ _ **matter!**_ ” Lion-O exploded. “Whether Pumyra hated me or forgave me, that was for _her_ to decide! Her loyalties, her convictions, her affections…those things were _hers!_ ” He raised the Sword of Omens, pointing the blade at Mumm-Ra furiously. “You had _no right_ to take them from her!”

Mumm-Ra regarded the enraged lion for a moment, then shook his head. “And that is your undoing, whelp,” he admonished with a rasping sigh. “As it was with your ancestor, Leo. Both you and he failed to grasp a simple, fundamental truth of the universe – that free will is _wasted_ on the masses.” His arm shot out, pointing at Pumyra’s lifeless body with a bony finger. “True order is only achieved through _subjugation_ – the masses must be bent to the will of a single, superior mind. They will _destroy_ themselves otherwise. To believe in anything else is folly.”

Lion-O had heard enough. Gently lowering Pumyra’s corpse to the sandy floor, he allowed himself one last glance. For another endless moment, his fingers traced the contours of her face, noting the traces of misery and regret on those wild, beautiful features – the emotions that had defined the fallen Thundercat’s final moments. His palm slid upward towards her brow, his fingers resting just above eyes that no longer saw anything. In his thoughts, he could still hear her last words...

_I'm sorry._

For a moment, Lion-O gazed into Pumyra's deep amber eyes, misted over in death. Only a faint echo of her vibrant personality remained, frozen in those glassy orbs like a footprint in the sand. His own eyes stinging, the young lion gently brought his his fingertips to the she-cat’s eyelids and gently drew them shut, hiding her golden pools forever.

And then Lion-O felt anger flare to life through his bones, burning away the numbness in his limbs and filled his veins with blazing heat. He was barely aware of rising to his feet, of gripping the Sword of Omens so tightly that his knuckles went white beneath his fur. He only vaguely noticed Panthro and Cheetara, now fully awake and struggling against their bonds on the far side of the observatory chamber. Even the mystic orrery, whose artificial planets glowed and spun of their own accord in the center of the chamber, was all but unseen by Lion-O.

The world had narrowed down around him once more. All he could see was Mumm-Ra, and all the suffering he’d brought to Third Earth.

“No more talking,” Lion-O hissed , raising his sword. “This ends _now."_

Mumm-Ra’s withered lips drew back in a dark smile. “How very true,” he rasped. “You have been a thorn in my side for long enough!” The mummified sorcerer flung his arms wide, his voice taking on a haunting resonance that echoed across the curved walls and ceiling of the ancient observatory.

“ _ **Ancient Spirits of Evil…**_ **”**

The familiar chant continued, but Lion-O barely heard it. A dull pounding had filled his ears, reducing everything else to a muffled drone that left the young lion oddly aware of his surroundings. He felt the blood rushing through his veins, from his legs to the very tips of his fingers as they tightened around the hilt of his sword. He felt the power of the Sword of Omens react to his anger, azure lightning crackling along the length of the blade while the Eye of Thundera blazed with scarlet light. And he felt every grain of sand in the floor scatter beneath his feet as he broke into a sprint, letting out a roar of challenge as he charged Mumm-Ra head-on.

But even now, the mummified demon’s incantation was taking effect. A vortex of ghostly purple energy erupted around Mumm-Ra’s feet and surged upward, its swirling energies hiding him from view. That baleful voice emerged from the rising maelstrom, growing deeper and stronger by the second.

“… _ **Transform this decayed form**_ **…”**

Unwilling to let Mumm-Ra finish his transformation, Lion-O charged into the tempest of supernatural energies. But it was like running into a hurricane – invisible waves of pressure hammered against the young king, and stinging grit assailed his eyes and nostrils. Every step forward took a valiant effort, and the ghostly wind threatened to drive him off-balance at any second. As Lion-O struggled to advance, the eerie purple light seemed to burn into his eyes like the rays of some unearthly sun, forcing him to raise his gauntlet-clad arm to ward off the penumbral glare. All the while, the seething energies of the vortex caused his fur and hair to stand on end, and jolts of pain danced through his limbs whenever they made contact with the tendrils of dark magic.

But Lion-O clenched his jaw and pushed forward, refusing to fall back – through the swirling darkness that had engulfed Mumm-Ra, he could see that the mummified sorcerer had begun to _change_. His tattered crimson robe burst into violet flames as it was peeled away in the wind, exposing his skeletal frame as it began to _change_. The ancient gauze of his wrappings stretched taut over his chest and limbs as his emaciated figure quickly gained size and mass, impressive muscles swelling beneath ash-gray flesh. A pair of demonic wings erupted from his back in a spray of shredded bandages, their bat-like mantle swiftly folding over the ancient fiend’s body to obscure him completely.

“… _ **Into**_ _ **Mumm-Ra...**_ **”**

At that moment, Lion-O finally broke through into the eye of the storm, no longer assailed by the howling wind or the agonizing jolts of occult energy. A battle cry tore from his throat as he lunged at Mumm-Ra, and his sword became a silvery blur in his hands as he brought it down in a fierce slash at the ancient demon’s body beneath the folded shroud of his bat-like wings—

—Except that suddenly, those wings flew open, and the Sword of Plun-Darr – its jet-black blade and bat-winged crossguard tinged with unearthly purple light – flashed out to meet the Sword of Omens. Their blades collided with a resounding clash and a shower of sparks, electric-blue and penumbral violet as the potent magic inherent to each blade was unleashed—

“ **...** _ **The Ever-Living!!**_ ” Mumm-Ra finished as he emerged into view, his teeth bared savagely at Lion-O from behind the deadly cross of their swords.

Despite his hatred, Lion-O couldn’t help but feel a tremor of awe at Mumm-Ra’s transformed state. Gone was the wizened, decrepit sorcerer in the tattered cloak – his gaunt body had surged with muscle, assuming the powerfully-built physique of a younger, taller figure. The bandages of his funeral wrappings had all but torn away; only a few loops of gauze remained coiled around his throat, waist, and limbs. No longer a stooped and emaciated corpse, Mumm-Ra had become a hulking behemoth over nine feet tall – the form he had adopted in ancient times as an intergalactic warlord.

Most striking, however, was the ceremonial battle armor that now adorned the ancient demon’s powerful frame. Ornate golden bracers embraced his forearms, while matching greaves protected his shins. An armored battle-skirt of indigo with golden trim adorned his muscular hips, framing a crimson loincloth. A circular gold medallion was fastened to his broad chest, boasting a sinister coat of arms – the silhouette of twin snakes, coiled together against a blood-red backdrop. Completing the ensemble was an elaborate golden helm with a flaring crest, adorned with black serpents that reared upward to resemble horns. Strips of scarlet cloth draped from beneath the flaring edges of the helmet to mantle Mumm-Ra’s neck and shoulders, lending an almost regal air to the monstrous visage that gazed down at Lion-O with ghoulish scarlet eyes set above a heavy jaw.

“A sensible tactic, trying to stop my transformation.” the ancient demon observed, his voice now a deep and gravelly thing that seemed to make the very air tremble. “But you failed to prevent this, cub. Just as you failed to save that fool, Pumyra." He paused, lips drawing back to reveal cruel fangs. "And now you will join her in death.”

Lion-O bared his own fangs in defiance. “Not before I kill you,” he growled.

Then their blades slid apart with a metallic rasp, and the fight began. Anger drove Lion-O forward, the Sword of Omens scything around in a series of flashing arcs that made the air thrum in their wake. Mumm-Ra remained immobile in the face of this attack, his sword arm moving deftly to parry each of Lion-O's furious blows. Once, twice, thrice, the Sword of Plun-Darr flew to counter the Sword of Omens, and the air resounded with clashing steel as sparks of mystical energy erupted wherever the two blades met – vibrant blue from the Sword of Omens, eerie violet from the Sword of Plun-Darr; the clashing hues blending together before dissipating completely.

Undaunted, the young lion pressed his attack with a snarl, the tendons on his arm going taut as he swung his sword in a flurry of blurring arcs, determined to get a blow past Mumm-Ra’s guard. But the ancient demon continued to meet his assault with a cold, detached efficiency, his taloned feet planted firmly to prevent even a single step of retreat. Sparks continued to fly as the Sword of Plun-Darr darted back and forth, meeting the Sword of Omens and deflecting it in a series of metallic clashes. Lion-O might as well have been fighting a statue – one who could counter his blows with uncanny precision.

Throughout it all, Mumm-Ra regarded him with an imperious scowl, as though disdainful of his efforts. "Come, now," he scoffed. "Is this all your righteous fury is worth, _'Lord of the Thundercats?'_ "

Feeling a fresh surge of anger course through him, Lion-O let out a wordless battle-cry as he brought his sword around in a particularly fierce arc. In answer, the demon’s left arm suddenly came up in a blur of darkness, and there was a resounding _**CLANG**_ as the Sword of Omens struck an unyielding surface. As the jolt of impact traveled up Lion-O's wrists, he saw the ornate black metal that now embraced Mumm-Ra's forearm, standing firm against his blade's keen edge, and cursed himself for the oversight.  
  
 _Idiot. Of course Mumm-Ra would use his own gauntlet—!_  
  
With a fierce grunt, Mumm-Ra swept his arm outward, the black alloy of the Gauntlet of Plun-Darr scraping along the edge of the Sword of Omens as the latter was forced aside. Momentum sent Lion-O stumbling, his blade sweeping uselessly through empty air. Managing to regain his footing, the young king recovered and brought his sword back in front of him.  
  
But Mumm-Ra was already on the offensive, his own sword a blur of midnight-hued steel as he whipped it around in a horizontal arc. Instinct alone saved Lion-O as he recoiled, just before the Sword of Plun-Darr could cleave his head open straight across. As it was, the cursed blade missed his face by scant inches; he could practically _feel_ the displaced air kissing his nose.

_Too close, that was_ _**way** _ _too close—_

Lion-O shook his head, banishing the thought. Expecting Mumm-Ra to press his advantage, the Lord of the Thundercats continued to backpedal, retreating several steps before pulling to a halt and raising his sword. In a straight clash, Mumm-Ra would overpower him; his own athletic frame was outclassed by the latter's brute strength. But maybe he could use his greater speed and agility to his advantage – dodge Mumm-Ra’s blade, then use the momentum to leap up and over his shoulders; just as he’d done with the Duelist so long ago…?

Except that Mumm-Ra _wasn’t_ advancing. For a second, Lion-O didn’t understand…but then he saw the Ever-Living tyrant extending his sword outward so that the blade was pointing at him; with his other hand rising behind the dusky pommel-stone, palm open and talon-like fingers spread wide. An unearthly hum began to fill the air as motes of occult energy ignited in the ancient demon’s palm, swirling from his hand and coiling along the length of the Sword of Plun-Darr in a serpentine spiral that swiftly coalesced into an aura of ghostly purple.

Realization dawned upon Lion-O in an instant. Hastily whipping up his left forearm, the young king focused his will upon the deceptively-small gem set into the golden metal of the Gauntlet of Omens. The supernatural energies of the Spirit Stone flared to life, projecting outward from the crystal and forming a protective dome of vibrant magenta energy around his body.  
  
And just in time – the power that had enveloped the Sword of Plun-Darr erupted from its ebon blade in an unearthly purple beam, hitting the surface of the Spirit Stone’s shield and splintering into streams of energy that crackled across its sloping surface. Snarling, Mumm-Ra ramped up the power flowing through his sword. The ghostly purple fire of his magic seethed and hissed like a living thing, surging and crashing against Lion-O's shield. Though the rose-hued barrier held firm, the air crackled and stung with ozone, and Lion-O winced as he felt the Gauntlet of Omens quiver around his forearm – even through the protective bubble, he could feel the sheer _evil_ behind Mumm-Ra's attack.   
  
_Forget reflecting this,_ he had time to think. _Even if I_ _ **could**_ _, it probably wouldn't hurt him!_

Diverting the blast would have to do. Grunting with exertion, Lion-O dug his feet against the floor, focused the whole of his will upon the Spirit Stone, then wrenched his gauntlet-clad arm outward. There was a flash of rosy light, and the dark energy from Mumm-Ra’s sword was driven away in a starburst of violet rays. Clouds of sandy dust flew as the wayward bolts pounded across the walls and floor the ancient observatory; a few of the planetary models on the orrery exploded in fragments of metal and glass. The echoes from those explosions reverberated in Lion-O’s ears, and the lingering remnants of the dark energy seemed to make the air crackle.  
  
But even as his ears rang and spots danced before his eyes from the bright flaring of the rebounding energy, Lion-O sprung into action. After all, two could play that game.

Whipping up the Sword of Omens and holding it aloft, the young king drew in a breath and focused his will on the War Stone. A wild tingle like electricity shot up his spine as the crimson gem resonated in reurtn, an ethereal note filling the air as its circular surface ignited with ruby incandescence. Seizing the hilt with both hands, Lion-O brought the Sword of Omens down in a warrior's salute, aiming the Eye of Thundera and its gathering power at Mumm-Ra. The Ever-Living fiend was already responding in kind, his penumbral magic suffusing the Sword of Plun-Darr's dark blade as he lifted it towards Lion-O. Behind the building purple energy, Mumm-Ra's demonic eyes met his, matching his glare.  
  
And then they both unleashed their power at once. A beam of scarlet energy erupted from the Sword of Omens, and Mumm-Ra's dark magic surged through the Sword of Plun-Darr in another crackling wave. The two beams met in midair, colliding in a flash of electric crimson and ghostly purple that made the air crack from the force of it. Hissing and crackling, the opposing energies fought for dominance, each trying to overwhelm the other.  
  
For a moment, Lion-O struggled to keep his footing, the Sword of Omens shaking in his hands as he tried to hold his ground against Mumm-Ra’s power. His heels dug into the sandy floor for purchase, his teeth gritting with the strain, Lion-O ignored the quivering tension in his legs and did his best to hold his ground. Narrowing his eyes against the ruby glare of that beam, and the answering violet glare from Mumm-Ra's blast, he tried to peer past the clashing energies, to see what...was...  
  
...Wait. That wasn't possible. It _couldn't_ be happening.

Except that it was. Hammered by the occult pressure from Mumm-Ra's dark power, the scarlet beam from the Eye of Thundera, the attack that he’d used to end every other fight, was slowly being forced back _towards_ him—!

—And then a thunderclap of an explosion shook the observatory as the conflicting energies abruptly detonated, erupting into a violet-red fireball that hurled clouds of smoke and dust to the farthest corners of the room. The shockwave of the blast hit Lion-O full-on before he could brace himself, the sheer force of it sending him stumbling back several steps. For a moment, his balance almost failed him, his arms flailing wildly for purchase as he lurched backward. His feline instincts kicked in at the last second; his body twisting instinctively so that his center of gravity could re-assert itself. Straightening up, Lion-O raised his sword again and prepared to charge, aiming the blade at Mumm-Ra’s powerful frame.

_With any luck, he’s off-balance, too—_

But his hopes were dashed as Mumm-Ra stepped forward, dispersing the lingering smoke with a powerful flap of his bat-like wings. If the villainous sorcerer-king had been affected by the explosion from the clashing beams at all, he certainly didn’t show it – his posture was as resolute and unyielding as ever, and that ghoulish visage remained impassive as he considered Lion-O with his hellish crimson gaze, as if he'd somehow expected better of him.

Ignoring the helpless frustration that chewed at his focus, Lion-O took up a fighting stance, ready to meet the ancient demon’s next attack. It didn’t matter how hopeless the fight seemed – he would not give up. _Dared_ not give up.

For his father. For Pumyra. For all of Third Earth.

As if he’d been reading Lion-O’s thoughts, Mumm-Ra laughed scornfully. “A valiant effort,” he observed. “But ultimately _futile_. Do you _truly_ believe that you can vanquish me?”

Lion-O gritted his teeth, glaring defiantly at his arch-foe. “Of course!” he shot back. “That’s what the Sword of Omens was _made_ for!”

“A misguided hope,” Mumm-Ra retorted, pointing at Lion-O’s sword with a black-armored finger. “Your vaunted blade was forged from the leftover fragments of _mine_. Though it contains the War Stone, it can only draw upon a _fraction_ of its full power. To face me with such a meager thing…” He paused, gesturing dismissively. “...Foolishness. You may as well fight a forest fire with a cup of water.”

Lion-O felt his gut tighten. “You’re bluffing!”

Mumm-Ra merely raised a mocking brow behind his golden war-helm. “Am I? You forget, cub…I wield the Sword of Plun-Darr, now – a weapon born from the death of a star, and all the lives that death claimed.” He paused, brandishing the black blade menacingly. “Before it, your precious ‘Sword of Omens’ is nothing but a _toy_. It cannot channel the power necessary to overcome _my_ blade…and even if it _could_ , doing so is beyond your ability!“

Lion-O’s temper boiled over. “Watch me,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Raising the Sword of Omens, the young king drew in a breath and focused his strength. Once again, the blade was enveloped in a corona of scarlet energy, with cyan lightning crackling along its edges. The shadows of the observatory were driven back by the flashes of fiery red and electric-blue, twisting and dancing wildly at the edges of the mystic radiance that had formed a wide pool of light around Lion-O’s feet. All the while, the sword’s power rippled through his body, its very presence causing his red hair and tawny fur to stand on end.

But it wasn’t enough. This was nothing beyond the usual degree of power he channeled through the blade. And he needed more. Tightening his jaw, Lion-O silently willed the Sword of Omens to draw out more power from the Eye of Thundera – more than he’d ever tried in the past.

For a long, endlessly infuriating moment, there was nothing…and then something like a thunderbolt surged through him, and the swirling energy that had engulfed his blade flared hotly. It was as though he had grabbed an electrical cable – his very nerves seemed to crackle with lightning, flowing through his veins and bones like liquid flame. A galvanic hum filled the air, swiftly rising in pitch. The sword itself seemed to tremble violently in Lion-O’s hands, as if struggling to contain the sheer magnitude of power that he’d summoned.

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced from the Sword of Omens before…and he knew it was enough. _This_ was the power he needed. Nothing could stand before it! _Nothing!_

Then Lion-O’s thoughts were lost in a surging tide of crimson fog as he hurled himself forward once more, a wild roar erupting from his lungs as he lunged at Mumm-Ra. The tendons in his wrist went taut as he struck out, the Sword of Omens left a blazing trail of scarlet and cyan in its wake as it cleaved the air in a fierce arc, descending towards Mumm-Ra’s skull. The demon lord’s sword became a black blur in his hand, wreathed in ghostly purple energy as it leapt to meet Lion-O’s blade head-on—

— _ **KL-AAAA-AAAAANNNNN-NNNNGGG!!!!—**_

There was a reverberating clash as the two swords met, star-forged steel and mystic enchantments colliding with meteoric force. The colossal impact shot up Lion-O’s arm like a renegade thunderbolt, threatening to rip the Sword of Omens from his hands. Gritting his teeth, the young prince tightened his fists around the grip until his claws bit into his own palms, keeping his blade locked against Mumm-Ra’s. As the two struggled against one another, Lion-O found himself keenly aware of everything unfolding all at once – the warring energies of the Sword of Omens and the Sword of Plun-Darr swirling around him and Mumm-Ra in a spiraling shockwave of hot crimson and eerie purple, his own feet shoving against the floor for purchase, the stench of ozone burning in his nostrils, the echoes of the impact ringing in his ears—

— _ **KRA-AKKKT—**_

Then, without warning, _it_ rang out. A harsh metallic snap, sharp as a gunshot. Instinctively, Lion-O’s eyes tracked the sound, following it back to its source…

…Where he found himself staring at the Sword of Omens. At the distinct, jagged crack that now ran along the length of the star-forged blade. It bled flaking motes of vibrant red light, the exact same hue as the power surging through the War Stone set in the crossguard of the sword. The power that he’d set loose in his fury.

And, in that fleeting moment, Lion-O felt the sick swoop of dread in his stomach, realizing that it had all gone wrong.

Suddenly, there was a vibrant surge in the mystic lightning that danced between his sword and Mumm-Ra’s, and the Ever-Living shoved his blade forward with a sudden savagery. Still off-guard, Lion-O stumbled backward, disengaging from the blade-lock and putting several precious feet between him and his foe. Regaining his balance, the young king started to raise his sword, but felt a chill as he looked at its blade.

It was a subtle thing, really – a slender, zigzagging fracture that danced along the star-forged steel – but Lion-O knew instinctively that the crack ran deep. Even now, the Sword of Omens bled rivulets of fiery red energy from the damaged blade, and its hilt quivered subtly in his hands…as if the entire weapon had become destabilized, and might explode any minute.

_No…no, no,_ _**no—** _

Then Mumm-Ra’s voice broke through Lion-O’s thoughts, scornful and gloating all at once. “Fool,” the ancient demon hissed, his scarlet eyes glowing with malevolent satisfaction. “I _warned_ you that your sword couldn’t handle that power. I _told_ you it was futile. But you tried, anyway…as I knew you would.”

Lion-O tried to think of a retort, but his tongue failed him. All he could do was stare in mounting dread, realizing that Mumm-Ra had baited him into a fatal mistake.

Mumm-Ra let out a chilling laugh. “Do you see _now_ , foolish whelp?” he gloated. “ _This_ is the truth of the Sword of Omens – a pale imitation of _real_ power! A false hope offered by your worthless ancestor! It is no match for _my_ sword…just as _you_ are no match for _me!_ ”

With those words, the demonic sorcerer-king held the Sword of Plun-Darr aloft, the hellish weapon engulfed in ghostly purple light that turned it into a reverse silhouette. There was an eerie hiss as the weapon transformed, a second blade jutting forth from the pommel of the weapon and sweeping downward in the opposite direaction. When the glow faded, Mumm-Ra now held a double-bladed sword, its dark edges curved and crackling with penumbral lightning. Those twin blades became a blur of jet-black steel as Mumm-Ra spun it expertly in his monstrous fingers, whirling it in a series of deadly arcs.

To Lion-O, the meaning was all too clear: Mumm-Ra had been holding back the whole time. But now he was tired of the game, and ready to end it.

Then Mumm-Ra was lunging at him, twirling the transformed Sword of Plun-Darr like a staff as he brought both its blades into play. Lion-O barely managed to get the Sword of Omens up in time to meet the attack, its silver blade darting left and right to meet the Sword of Plun-Darr as its twin edges came at him from alternating directions. Sparks of vibrant cyan and ghastly purple flew wherever the two swords collided, punctuated by the harsh ring of clashing steel and jolts of impact that reverberated through their hilts...and Lion-O, smaller than the massive Mumm-Ra, took the worst of it. Each blow pushed him back, forcing him to yield step after step to the demon as he was driven towards the far wall.

Gritting his teeth, the young king tried to parry his enemy’s assault and go on the offensive, but it was no good – shock and dread had diluted the rush of adrenaline through his veins; in its absence, Lion-O's limbs felt numb and unsteady, as if they too had been weakened when the Sword of Omens cracked. It was all he could do to block Mumm-Ra's double-bladed sword, forcing its two edges away each time they sought him out. Already, he could feel a nascent weariness creeping up his wrists and arms, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his strength failed in earnest.

Just then, Lion-O felt another keen jolt reverberate through the Sword of Omens, saw another hairline fracture dance along the length of the blade – one of several by now, each bleeding the War Stone's energy. And with horrified insight, he realized that his growing fatigue was the least of his problems.

_He's targeting my blade_ _**deliberately –** _ _the Sword of Omens can't take much more of this! The minute it breaks...!_

Suddenly, there was a jarring thump at Lion-O's back and shoulders, forcing a startled grunt from his lips. A swift glance over his shoulder revealed the unyielding sandstone of the observatory wall, which he'd backed into. He'd run out of room to manuver – and, looking back ahead, he could see Mumm-Ra advancing, moving in for the kill.

Cursing inwardly, the young king started to push away, following the curve of the domed wall as it led to the right—

_**SSKLLZZZZZTT – KHBMMM!** _

—Only to jerk back in alarm as a crackling lance of ghostly violet energy erupted from Mumm-Ra's gauntlet-clad palm, detonating against the wall close enough to Lion-O that he was he was pelted by chips of fragmented rock. Recoiling with the smell of ozone in his nostrils, the young king hurled himself back the other way—

_**VVHHWHHAAPP!** _

—And nearly rolled headlong into Mumm-Ra's sword as it flashed past him, its keen blade missing his face by inches as it carved a deep, smooth gash in the stone. Instinctively, Lion-O backpedaled away from the Sword of Plundarr, ending up right back where he started—

—And then, as a a shadow fell over him, Lion-O realized he had nowhere left to go. The massive frame of Mumm-Ra now loomed over the him like a nightmare, framed in silhouette by the ethereal radiance from the mystic orrery in the center of the chamber. The shadow was broken only by the crimson glow of the sorcerer king's blood-red eyes, giving his demonic features a terrifying aspect as he leered down at Lion-O in savage triumph.

"No more running, cub!" Mumm-Ra declared as he raised the Sword of Plun-Darr, its jet-black blades engulfed in the eerie purple aura of his dark magic. "Your ancestor's rebellion ends here! "

Lion-O lifted his own sword in reply, but it seemed almost futile – one glance at the cracked blade, bleeding motes of scarlet energy from the War Stone, was enought to make his heart sink. All it would take was one more blow, and the Sword of Omens would shatter. After that, there would be nothing left to protect him from Mumm-Ra's assault. Desperation coursing through him like an icy flood, Lion-O glanced wildly to either side, looking for an avenue of escape; something else he could use as a weapon, _anything_. But it was all in vain. He was boxed in, and Mumm-Ra was winding up for the death blow.

 _He's right,_ Lion-O thought numbly. _It's over._

Then a flicker of light caught his eye. Not the fiery red glow of the War Stone, set in the sword of Omens; but something gentler – magenta, like the color of an orchid. A quick glance brought Lion-O's gaze to his left arm, staring at the bronzed metal of the Gauntlet of Omens. At the Spirit Stone, the source of the pulsing rose light.

At the way the Spirit Stone's light seemed to mingle with the radiance from the War Stone.

Inspiration flashed through Lion-O, a final spark of hope that made him clench his jaw and straighten his shoulders in defiance as he tightened his grip on the Sword of Omens. There was no time to bring up the Spirit Stone's shield, and Mumm-Ra was too close for it anyway.

But maybe, just maybe, there was another way he could use its power.

With a triumphant snarl, Mumm-Ra brought his sword down in a flashing jet-black arc. On instinct, Lion-O raised his own blade to meet the attack, gripping the Sword of Omens in both hands and focusing on the Eye of Thundera, calling on all its strength...along with the power of the Spirit Stone housed in his gauntlet, willing it to flow where he needed it to be. For a brief moment, he noticed the Spirit Stone's rose-hued radiance swirling along his armored forearm, wrapping around the hilt of his sword and swirling up his fractured blade. The energies from the War Stone met it, blending and binding together...

– _ **KL-AAAA-AAAAANNNNN-NNNNGGG!!!!**_ –

Then there was a ringing clash of steel as the Sword of Plun-Darr met the Sword of Omens, and the impact of the colliding blades hammered through Lion-O like a cannonball. The air sizzled with warring energies as the War Stone's scarlet aura encountered the ghastly purple essence of Mumm-Ra's magic. Gritting his teeth and tensing his feet, Lion-O held his ground, the blade of his sword scraping along Mumm-Ra's as the two tried to overpower one another. A spiderweb of deep cracks darted along his already-fractured blade, blazing red from the power of the War Stone as it threatened to overwhelm it.

And yet, as Mumm-Ra loomed over Lion-O and forced the Sword of Plun-Darr down against its rebellious counterpart, the Sword of Omens held fast. The Spirit Stone's protective energies had wrapped around its blade in an aura of rose-pink light, holding it together and keeping it strong in the face of its dark counterpart's power.

If only for the moment. Already, Lion-O could feel the Sword of Omens trembling violently in his grip, as if the combined energies of the Spirit and War Stones were too much for it to contain. As if it were about to explode.

But Lion-O had been expecting that. The Sword of Omens had been fatally damaged. All that was left was to make sure that its final act counted for something.

 _If my sword's going to break,_ he thought fiercely, _it's going to be on_ _ **my**_ _terms._

With a defiant scream tearing its way out of his throat, Lion-O gave an almighty jerk of his wrists, wrenching the Sword of Omens to one side so that its blade forced Mumm-Ra's out of the way. The energies flowing through his sword reached a peak; he could feel the lightning dancing along the blade as the cracks in its star-forged steel suddenly flared with light...

Then came an almighty thunderclap that Lion-O didn't so much hear as _felt_. There was a blast of heat and pressure from the Sword of Omens the energies of the War and Spirit Stones went nova, a vibrant starburst of red and magenta that illuminated everything in a surreal glow. In the flash of mystic light, Lion-O's eyes fed him information in disjointed bits, shooting through his brain as time seemed to slow to a crawl from the explosion—

—Fragments of star-forged steel flying everywhere, the Sword of Omens shrinking and diminishing in his grasp until it was little more than the short sword that was its default form—

—The Sword of Plun-Darr blasted out of Mumm-Ra's hand by the unleashed energies, spinning away in a disc-shaped blur of black metal until it finally buried itself in the sandstone floor with a solid _**thunk**_ of steel plunging into rock—

—And Mumm-Ra himself staggering backward from the blast, his glowing eyes wild as they followed the path of his discarded sword. The demon had been caught off guard, he was defenseless—

_Now; it's my only chance...!_

Fueled by a hot flash of instinct and adrenaline, Lion-O gripped what was left of the Sword of Omens in both hands and lunged. Mumm-Ra saw him coming and raised his hands; the young king could see motes of dark magic gathering in his palms and illuminating his powerful frame in ghostly purple. Even as part of his brain yelled at him to disengage, Lion-O hurled himself forward, throwing eveything he had into a final, decisive thrust—

—Then there was a shuddering jolt through Lion-O's wrists as he closed the remaining distance and drove the damaged Sword of Omens into Mumm-Ra's chest, its cracked blade crackling with lightning as it plunged into the demon's heart.

For a moment, everything seemed to pull to a sharp, crashing halt as Mumm-Ra doubled over, a strangled grunt escaping his chest as his powerful arms fell to his sides. Looking up, Lion-O found the ancient demon staring down at him, shock and disbelief stamped on those monstrous features – behind his golden helm, Mumm-Ra's baleful scarlet eyes had gone wide, his jaw falling open in wordless denial as his talons clawed uselessly at thin air. There was no scream, no strangled gasp – only the stunned, disbelieving silence of a tyrant who'd thought himself invincible, only to be proven wrong.

Lion-O met Mumm-Ra's shocked gaze with a defiant glare, feeling his teeth bare themselves in a savage sort of satisfaction. _For Pumyra_ , he thought grimly. _And_ _my father. And everyone else you've killed, tortured, or enslaved—_

Then there was a crackling hiss as the Sword of Omens discharged its energy into Mumm-Ra's heart, crackling ribbons of blue-white lightning dancing across his massive frame. A wordless howl tore itself from the demon's throat as he found his voice, a thing of agonized fury that made Lion-O's eardums cringe in protest. Hands like giant gray spiders came up again and went for his throat, fingers like talons twitching madly as they closed around his windpipe–

–And as they made contact, the arcane lightning that was coursing through Mumm-Ra found its way back to Lion-O, rippling across his body in a wild, sizzling dance. Now _he_ was screaming as well, his whole world vanishing in a blinding haze of white-hot pain. Somewhere, past the agony, he was aware of his body shuddering violently in the grip of the current, even as his breath cut off under Mumm-Ra's chokehold. A harsh, acrid stench like burning cloth and flesh filled the air, and there was no telling who it belonged to.

But even so, defiance and grief and rage came together in Lion-O's heart, granting him one last burst of strength. Gritting his teeth through the pain, fighting the black spots that danced at the edges of his vision, he planted his feet as best he could. Driven by desperation, the young king willed his fingers to grip the hilt of his sword even tighter, shoving its splintered point deeper into Mumm-Ra's chest and giving it a savage twist for good measure.

_Ignore the pain – block it out – **finish him** – !_

Then there was a sudden shift in the arcane energies that enveloped the two combatants – a galvanized hum, a flash of ghostly purple that mingled with the blue. The occult power snapped through Lion-O's body, a buzzing heat and freezing chill that cracked along his bones like a bullwhip. A wave of unseen pressure caught him flush in the chest, and suddenly he was weightless and airborne. His fingers lost their grip on the Sword of Omens as he found himself flying backward, away from Mumm-Ra's grasp, the air whistling in his ears as if he'd been launched out of a catapult—

Then a bone-rattling impact slammed through Lion-O as he was thrown back against the wall, pummeling his back and shoulders through his cerulean cuirass. His vision reeling sharply as what little breath he had left exploded from his lungs in a wordless gasp, the young king felt his legs go wobbly and unsteady beneath him. His hands flashed out instinctively, clawing at the wall itself for purchase as he tried to keep himself upright. For a moment, it seemed like he might make it, in spite of everything.  
  
But Lion-O's lungs were empty. His legs felt weightless and weak. The world was lurching violently before him, the darkness at the edges of his vision closing in. And before he knew it, he was pitching forward, so close to losing consciousness that he almost didn't feel it when he hit the ground. For a moment, the he almost blacked out entirely, and the sweet numbness was so tempting that he almost gave in.  
  
 _Not yet. You've got to be sure._  
  
The next thing Lion-O knew, his ears were filled with his own agonized gasps as he sucked in breath, instinct driving his body even as his throat rasped from the sharpness of air rushing through his abused windpipe. His limbs trembled as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, trying to make sense of the jumbled information that his senses were feeding him. His nerves still buzzed and stung from their brush with the Sword of Omens' power, and his flesh tingled painfully beneath singed fur that stood on end. His brain was barking orders that his limbs refused to follow, and it was all he could do to keep himself from slumping back to the floor and passing out.

 _Nothing broken, though,_ part of his brain whispered. _No concussion, either. Not even any major burns. Maybe the Spirit Stone protected me. Or the backlash flung me clear of Mumm-Ra before any permanent harm–_

_Whiskers._ _**Mumm-Ra!!** _

A molten surge of panic burned through the cobwebs in Lion-O's mind as he looked up sharply, half-expecting to see the ancient demon looming over him and ready to deal the fatal blow.

But Mumm-Ra hadn't moved. His powerful body was hunching forward now, both hands clutching at his massive chest. Jet-black blood flowed between those intertwined fingers, trickling down the transformed fiend's abdomen in branching rivers of liquid darkness. Sporadic jolts of sky-blue electricity danced over the Sword of Omens, its damaged blade still buried hilt-deep in Mumm-Ra's heart. The crackling lightning sent a horrific shudder through the stricken monster, as if it were burning away at his eternal life force.

Even as his limbs remained heavy and non-responsive, Lion-O couldn't help but let out a vengeful chuckle. "So you _can_ bleed after all," he managed, showing his teeth in a mirthless smile.

Mumm-Ra's head snapped up to glare at Lion-O, his blood-red eyes ablaze with impotent fury. Beneath the shadow of his golden helmet, the monster's features were twisted with pain and wrath alike, and his breath hissed from his bared fangs in rasping gasps of agony. "You...you _**wretch**_ _ **...!**_ "

Lion-O glared back at Mumm-Ra, defiant and vindictive even as he tried once more – and in vain – to push himself upright. "You've _lost_ , Mumm-Ra," he shot back, forcing iron into his words. "Your malice, your tyranny, your slaughter...it's _over_."

"It... _is_... _ **NOT!**_ "

Snarling the last word like a curse, Mumm-Ra suddenly grabbed at the Sword of Omens, claw-tipped fingers closing tightly around its hilt. The War Stone in its crossguard flared brightly in response, and currents of arcane lightning crackled over the demonic tyrant's arms. But even as the protective enchantments on the Sword of Omens scorched his flesh, Mumm-Ra bared his fangs and kept pulling, scarlet eyes wild with deranged purpose. One hand twitched violently and was forced away, driven off by the warding magic; but the other – the one clad in the dark armor of the Gauntlet of Plun-Darr – remained closed tight around the hilt...

From where he knelt on the floor, Lion-O could only stare in silent disbelief. _Gods...ancestors...don't let him pull the blade out,_ he thought desperately. _I've got nothing else left...!_

At that moment, Mumm-Ra wrenched violently, and the Sword of Omens came free in a spurting gush of jet-black blood. With a snarl of agonized fury, the monstrous tyrant hurled the damaged weapon aside, sending it bouncing across the floor with a discordant clatter of metal on rock. Watching it come to rest, Lion-O absently noted that it _seemed_ intact – really, it could have just reverted to its dagger form – until one spotted the troubling details. The splintered cracks that ran the full length of the shrunken blade. The flickering, sporadic glow of the Eye of Thundera, its felinoid pupil seeming to dim and shrink to the thinnest of slits. And, more than that, the way color itself seemed to have fled the Sword of Omens – the rich turquoise accents had gone dull, the silvery alloy had lost its luster.  
  
Much like the Gauntlet of Omens itself had done when his fater, King Claudus, had died.

His heart sinking, Lion-O tried to reach for his sword, but it remained just a few inches out of reach. Gritting his teeth, he dug his claws into the ground and tried to drag himself closer to the broken weapon, but the muscles in his arms refused to heed him. The strength was gone from his fingers, his legs were deadweight that he could barely feel, and a painful throbbing pounded at his temples each time he tried to shift himself. Somewhere nearby, as if from a great distance away, he could hear a rhythmic, heavy set of footfalls, almost drowned out by the frantic babble of his own thoughts.

_Come on come on just a few more inches don't let him win–_

Then a shadow fell over Lion-O, and he looked up. Mumm-Ra loomed over him now, swaying unsteadily on his feet. The ancient demon's breath came out in a rasping wheeze, ragged and raw, as if each breath filled his lungs with molten metal. One hand still clutched at his muscular chest; through the segmented black armor of the Gauntlet of Plun-Darr, Lion-O caught a glimpse of the wound left by the Sword of Omens. The ash-gray flesh around that deep rift was scorched and charred, and the liquid darkness that served as Mumm-Ra's blood still trickled down his abdomen in rivulets of blackness.

But the tyrant was still standing. Pale lips drawing back from monstrous fangs, his breath hissing through them in wheezing rasps, Mumm-Ra glared down at Lion-O. He didn't speak. He didn't need to – his demonic eyes, blazing with hateful bloodfire, spoke for him. Slowly, purposefully, his free hand rose into the air. There was an eerie hiss as particles of ghastly purple energy gathered there, coalescing into a sphere of dark power that made the air hum with its destructive potential.

And with slow, malevolent purpose, Mumm-Ra lowered his palm, aiming that gathered energy with all the deliberation of an executioner's pistol. Lion-O could barely move, his strength was spent, and all he could do was stare up at his impending death with numb, helpless anger.

It couldn't end like this, it _**couldn't**_ –

In that moment, time seemed to slow. There was a sudden blur of movement. A ripple of displaced air. A vibrant streak of golden, sunlight-yellow radiance that darted into view, right between Lion-O and Mumm-Ra, seeming to whirl to face the latter as it lashed out _–_

Then time sped up. The air erupted with a stacaato percussion of wood against flesh as a volley of staff-strikes hammered into Mumm-Ra's chest in rapid succession, motes of sunlight-hued magic bursting from the point of each impact. The demon was sent staggering backwards, a strangled snarl escaping his jaws as he flailed for balance. The power that he'd been about to unleash went wild, an arcing bolt of violet energy that hurtled from his palm and slammed into the wall behind Lion-O. A thundering crash filled the young king's ears, and he felt a rush of displaced air sweep over his prone body as the sandstone was blasted into rubble _–_

–And, before Lion-O's astonished eyes, the glowing silhouette resolved into a shapely, feminine form, and the light faded away to reveal a female Thundercat whole golden fur and flowing hair were interrupted by angular spots, her athletic curves accented by her sleek orange shorts and matching top.

_Cheetara!_

Even as the radiance of her speed-enhancing magic melted away, the last member of Jaga's Clerics pressed her attack. Just as Mumm-Ra started to recover, Cheetara pulled her staff back and launched it out in one last thrust, its sturdy length connecting flush with the wound from Lion-O's sword. There was a final flash of golden-yellow light as sacred magic seared at demonic hide, and Mumm-Ra was forced backwards, a trail of dust flying from his monstrous feet as they skidded along the floor. A snarl of agonzied fury escaping his jaws, the demon started to right himself, lifting his palm again–

Which was when another figure stepped into view, reaching out to grab Mumm-Ra's extended arm and yank it aside. Dust falling from his soot-hued fur and fierce battle garments – a spike-studded dull red vest and pitch-black trousers – the interloper fixed the ancient demon with a glare. Brows knit beneath his smooth-shaven head, his thick muscles standing out beneath his pelt, Panthro tightened his fingers into Mumm-Ra's giant wrist and struggled to hold him back.

“Wretch!” Mumm-Ra roared at the former general, starting to wrench his arm free. “Unhand me–!”

There was a hydraulic hiss of integrated pistons and a rush of displaced air, followed by a solid crack of impact as Panthro's haymaker connected. Powered by the peculiar, malleable inner workings that comprised his new cyberntic arms, the metallic knuckles of his fist caught Mumm-Ra flush in the gut with the force of a cannon shot. Even as the demon doubled forward, Panthro's other fist was a blur of motion, slamming into his opponent's jaw in a savage uppercut. The blow snapped Mumm-Ra's head back and sent him reeling away, a strangled noise escaping his throat as he staggered to remain upright.  
  
Though his body still pulsed with a thousand aches as he watched Cheetara and Panthro step forward to flank him, Lion-O's heart surged with sudden hope. Gritting his teeth, he stretched his arm out, ignoring the straining torment in his arm as he reached for the Sword of Omens one last time. _Come on, come on...!_  
  
This time, he made it; a surprisingly cool hardness met his fingers as they closed around the faded hilt of his sword. Then came a subtle, flickering warmth that seemed to flow through his weary limbs; whether it was the Sword of Omens feeding him the last of its strength, or just plain adrenaline, Lion-O didn't know or care. With an effort, the young king forced himself back to his feet, trying to ignore the way his legs trembled beneath him as he limped forward to join the others.  
  
“Cheetara,” he managed, his voice feeling raw against his own throat. “Panthro. Are you two...?”  
  
“A little singed,” Cheetara answered, looking over her shoulder and offering a tight smile, flexing her spot-adorned bicep to show off the charred remnants of the bandages that had been wrapped around her body. “But we'll live. You must have disrupted Mumm-Ra's magic when you stabbed him; that's when we were able to break free.”

Lion-O could only nod, his throat going tight as he thought of the other spell he'd broken and what that had led to. “I know. Listen...Pumyra, she...”

“We saw, kid,” Panthro cut him off gruffly, pulling the chain-linked rods of his nunchakus from his belt. “We'll deal with it later. Right now, we've got to–”

A sudden, heavy flap of leathery wings rent the air, cutting off the rest of Panthro's admonishment. Reacting, all three of the Thundercats whirled to see Mumm-Ra lunging toward the far side of the orrery chamber, his bat-like wings outstretched to lend him distance. His landing, however, was not a graceful one – the moment his feet hit the ground, the demon stumbled forward, grunting out as if the impact had caused him pain. Though he didn't quite fall, Mumm-Ra's wings draped around him as he doubled over, clutching at his muscular chest with one hand. Black blood still oozed out between his fingers, trickling down those clawed digits to patter wetly on the ground.  
  
But none of that stopped Mumm-Ra from reaching down to retrieve the Sword of Plun-Darr from where it had landed earlier, one of its twin blades buried point-first in the ground. Pulling it free with a scraping rasp of black steel against sandstone, he glanced over his broad shoulder at the Thundercats, scarlet eyes narrowing as they focused on Lion-O in particular. A venomous growl hissed through the demon's monstrous fangs as he turned back towards them, his hulking frame draped in his demonic wings as he brandished the Sword of Plun-Darr in a way that suggested he could still fight, wounded or not.  
  
 _But he's still wounded._ Lion-O thought. _Badly. It's now or never._ Pushing back against his dizziness, the young king took a shaky step forward and lifted the broken Sword of Omens, no longer caring that it wasn't transforming into its full form like it should have. That would be too much to hope for, and it didn't matter anyway; so long as he could stab Mumm-Ra again. Somehow, his feet didn't buckle, and he took another step, doing his best to ignore the doubtful looks from Cheetara and Panthro as he took point between them.

“Don't, Lion-O,” Cheetara whispered urgently, her voice tight with concern as her ruby eyes took in his present state. “Your injuries...the Sword of Omens...”  
  
“Doesn't matter,” Lion-O hissed back, gritting the words out through clenched teeth as he aimed his damaged sword at Mumm-Ra as if in accusation. “Panthro's right – we've got to finish this _now._ ”   
  
Mumm-Ra's eyes blazed at Lion-O's words, but the transformed fiend said nothing. Wordlessly, the Ever-Living fiend lifted the Sword of Plun-Darr over his head, an eerie purple energy flickering to life along its length as he channeled his dark power through the weapon. Those twin blades became a blur of blackness as Mumm-Ra began twirling his sword in a deadly circle, the occult magicks building in their intensity. Mortally wounded or not, it was plain that the demonic tyrant still had a fromidable degree of power left...and if he couldn't escape, he was ready to take Lion-O and the other Thundercats with him when he died.  
  
But at this point, Lion-O didn't care. _Just so long as Mumm-Ra doesn't get out alive,_ he told himself grimly. Steeling himself, he brandished the Sword of Omens that had become a dagger, desperately willing his shaky legs to steel themselves for one last, desperate charge–  
  
And suddenly, there was an ear-rending crash as the ceiling above them exploded. Rubble came thundering down around the Thundercats and Mumm-Ra alike, a shower of sandstone chunks from the curved ceiling, gleaming bits of metal from the top of the orrery, and a blinding cloud of dust that was shot through with shafts of blinding sunlight.  
  
Reflexively throwing up his gauntlet-clad arm to try and protect himself from the hard rain, Lion-O stumbled back and looked around wildly, taking in as much of the situation as he could. To his right, Cheetara was whirling her staff above her to deflect the downpour of rocks and metal; to the left, Panthro had put up his cybernetic arms to protect his head and was enduring the rest of the debris as it pounded across with his muscular back; before them, Mumm-Ra was folding his demonic wings over his body like a shield, the debris tumbling off those bat-like membranes and clattering to the floor around him....  
  
And up above, through the billowing cloud of dust, vibrant shafts of brilliant light poured into the orrery chamber, replacing the dim radiance of the luminiscent crystals for natural sunlight. But even as Lion-O raised a palm to shield his eyes from the harsh glare, his ears twitched at a new sound – the keening, powerful whine of high-tech jet engines. His heart leaping into his chest, the young kind parted his fingers enough to peek through them, eyes adjusting to the sunlight as he stared at the new hole in the orrery chamber's ceiling.  
  
 _Is that what I think it is?_ _ **Who**_ _I think it is...?!_  
  
At that moment, a sudden gust of wind rushed through the hole, banishing the remainder of the dust cloud. There, framed by the jagged edges of the hole, Lion-O saw the source of the engines – a sleek aircraft that hovered outside, its white-and-scarlet finish gleaming in the sunlight as it shifted on VTOL jets, the better for the pulse cannons mounted on its wings to adjust their aim. Though he couldn't see through the polarized canopy of the cockpit, Lion-O could picture Tygra smirking behind the controls of the _Feliner_ , snapping off a jaunty salute as he locked on to Mumm-Ra.  
  
 _Perfect timing, brother,_ he thought with a grin. Impossibly, wonderfully, the tide had just turned.  
  
And Mumm-Ra knew it. Lion-O saw the look of outraged dismay on the face of the Ever-Living as he threw a glare over his shoulder at the Feliner, then looked about wildly at the shafts of sunlight that were streaming through the holes in the observatory ceiling, their radiance already brushing the edges of his massive wings and causing them to hiss and sizzle. Snarling in pain, Mumm-Ra lurched away from the light, retreating back a step or two...  
  
And then, even as the Thundercats advanced, the demon's gaze fell on Lion-O, eyes of bloodfire meeting sky-blue as gray lips drew back from fangs in something that was equal parts defiant snarl and savage grin.  
  
“This changes nothing, cub,” Mumm-Ra spat, his rasping voice filled with agonized malevolence. “Your sword will remain broken. Third Earth will remain divided. And your precious, rebellious wench will remain _**dead!**_ ”  
  
With those words, Mumm-Ra spun the Sword of Plun-Darr in a whirling arc, the purple energies of his magic crackling along its double-bladed length. Lion-O brought up his damaged sword, and Cheetara and Panthro made ready to lunge, but the demonic tyrant was already bringing the blade down, a blur of black steel and occult energy that plunged faster than the eye could follow...  
  
...into the _ground._  
  
A second later, Mumm-Ra disappeared behind an explosion of purple hellfire and penumbral smoke as the power in his sword was discharged, his hulking figure reduced to a blurry silhouette. The force of the blast snapped forward in a wave of pressure that sent the Thundercats stumbling backward, arms flailing for balance. High above, the Feliner opened fire with its main guns, unleashing a fiery rain of pulse rounds that poured through the hole in the roof and pummeled the smoke cloud that hid Mumm-Ra in a searing volley of electric-blue energy. Sandstone exploded as pulse fire chewed up the floor, throwing up clouds of dust that further drowned out everything in front of the Thundercats, including Mumm-Ra. Coughing and spitting dust, Lion-O squinted into the maelstrom, praying that it was enough...  
  
And suddenly, amidst the chaos of smoke and pulse fire, a dark blur shot upward into the air. As it rose in a spiraling arc, as if dizzy, Lion-O had just enough time to make it out. It was a crow, midnight-black, the plumage of its breast slick with ebon blood as it made for the hole in the ceiling.  
  
Hot panic twisted in Lion-O's chest; he'd seen this particular crow before. Mumm-Ra had transformed; he was fleeing; if he got away now...  
  
“ _ **Stop him!!!**_ ” he shouted, his voice raw and jagged against his throat. Even as the words left his mouth, he was raising his left arm, the Gauntlet of Omens shot through with glimmers of cyan as it caught the glow from the Feliner's pulse fire. Beside him, Panthro was drawing his fist back, and Cheetara was bringing up her staff as it glowed yellow. A moment later, all three let their attacks fly – the claw-fingers of the Gauntlet shot off on metallic cables, the length of Cheetara's staff shot forward as it extended to an impossible length, and the flexible materials of Panthro's new arms launched his fist like a rocket beyond the reach of any normal arm.  
  
But even wounded, Mumm-Ra was too fast. Twisting nimbly in mid-flight, his crow form wove through Lion-O's gauntlet claws, veered away from Panthro's fist, just barely dodged Cheetara's extending staff, and flew upward towards the hole in the ceiling. Protected from the sun by his transformed state, Mumm-Ra became a blurry silhouette in the shaft of light, winging up past the _Feliner's_ pulse fire, past the _Feliner_ itself...  
  
And then the blur vanished into the sunlight. Mumm-Ra was gone. He'd gotten away.  
  
For a moment, Lion-O went completely numb. Disbelief, fury, and despair raged in his mind like a hurricane, his limbs feeling hollow and wooden as he took a few stumbling steps forward. Then his legs suddenly gave out, and he found himself tumbling to his knees again. He was barely aware of the impact against his knees and palms; a dull pounding that muffled everything else filled his ears. Somewhere, somebody was screaming, a wordless howl of animal outrage; and it wasn't until he became aware of Cheetara shaking him and shouting for him to calm down that he realized that the scream was coming from him...

* * *

_**The Viridian Forest, The Present:** _

“...Lion-O? Lion-O. Hey, you still with me?”  
  
Lion-O blinked as Tygra's voice – and the fingers squeezing his shoulder – snapped him out of his thoughts and pulled him back to reality. Glancing over to the side, he saw his brother looking over at him with uncharacteristic concern, Judging from the hand on his shoulder, Tygra had been shaking him to get his attention. Whiskers, how long had he been lost in thought?  
  
“Huh?” Lion-O blinked again, feeling a rush of awkwardness. ”Oh, right, sorry. Just...caught up in the memory, that's all.”  
  
A wry half-smirk crossed Tygra's features. “I'll bet.” Then the smile faded. “Listen...I came to get you because Cheetara finished the preparations for...well...”  
  
“Pumyra's funeral,” Lion-O finished for him, his voice going tight.  
  
Tygra nodded, his expression sympathetic. “The pyre's been set up, and Cheetara's got the rites prepared. The others are gathering right now. All the same, we figured you;d want to be there to see it through. But I'd understand if you didn't want to be there for it...I mean, considering the circumstances...”

Lion-O shook his head, setting his jaw. “I'm the Lord of the Thundercats,” he said firmly. “It's my duty to see it through. If I was able to tend to my father's last rights, I can do that much for Pumyra. I...” He paused, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he finished the thought.  
  
“I can say goodbye.”  
  
Tygra nodded again, clasping his shoulder in understanding. Then the two of them slid off the branch, claws digging into the bark of the tree trunk as they began climbing back down towards the forest floor.

_**To Be Continued...** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> A few things to cover, regarding why each chapter takes so long - particularly this one.
> 
> Firstly, I'm my own biggest critic. I lost count of the number of revisions it took to get to this point; between wondering what dialogue would be most in-character for the involved players, to trimming down purple prose in said dialogue, to injecting Lion-O's demeanor into the narrative since it was being told from his perspective...yeah, I was at it for a while. Maybe I could've gotten this chapter done sooner if I'd been less demanding on myself, but that wouldn't have been as fun for you to read, would it?
> 
> Second, the fight scene took some time to hammer out. Considering that this was a big showdown between Lion-O and Mumm-Ra – and taking the outcome into account – I wanted to make it clear that our hero was giving it his all, and had exhausted all of his options before overclocking the Sword of Omens. Straight swordplay? Mumm-Ra was parrying him at every turn. The power blast from the War Stone? Mumm-Ra was able to counter it with his own magic. The Gauntlet's Spirit Stone? He used that, too. But in the end, with Pumyra dead and Cheetara and Panthro in peril, Lion-O was always going to have to resort to drastic measures.
> 
> And, of course, the battle took on a life of its own. I wanted to really convey the intensity of the struggle between Lion-O and Mumm-Ra, and how it was unfolding rapidly. Not to mention the exhaustion and pain involved near the end, when Lion-O was caught up in the power surge from the Sword of Omens and Mumm-Ra's desperation attack and forced himself to keep going. I hope I was able to properly convey what it would have felt like to be caught up in that sort of life-or-death struggle.
> 
> Also, fun fact...originally, the Sword of Omens was going to be really broken. We're talking the blade shattered into pieces, with only a jagged stump of steel left above the hilt. But after thinking about it, I settled for leaving the sword trapped in dagger form, with the blade visibly cracked. This way, Lion-O could conceivably still make use of it, but it won't be able to channel the power of the War Stone anywhere near as effectively any more.
> 
> Another fun bit of trivia – has anyone ever wondered why the Thundercats kept letting Mumm-Ra transform in the series? Here, I figured I'd provide an answer; even if ledges and distance weren't involved, I reckoned that the power flow from Mumm-Ra transforming would provide a pressure wave that would keep others from getting close enough in time.
> 
> Anyway, feel free to comment and critique; I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Whether the next one takes four years before it's done, I can't say...but to all you faithful Thundercats fans, I'll keep working on it all the same!

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it. I know this is a bit short, but it’s just a prologue. Originally, this was going to be part of chapter one; I even started working on the rest of it before I saw how many pages the whole thing was taking up. With that in mind, I decided to split them up into two parts, and release them shortly after one another.
> 
> While this means future chapters might take a bit longer, I didn’t want to keep the average reader sitting there all day, especially when it’s so much to take in. This way, I can keep all the details that I would have otherwise needed to delete.
> 
> And yes, I'm starting with a slight bit of a flash-forward. The whole story won't be in medias res, however; we'll bounce between past and present for the first couple of chapters before settling into the meat of the story. I hope it's not too hard to follow. 
> 
> As always, comments, critique, and suggestions are vastly appreciated; it lets me know that you folks have found my efforts worth reading. See you soon, fellow believers!


End file.
